Nothing to Lose
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik Ishtar is forced out of Egypt due to his rather difficult past, and without much of an aim in life he takes a place at an English university. Expecting to live alone, what happens when he finds himself stuck with a rather difficult flatmate who goes by the name of Bakura? Multi chaptered fic, thiefshipping with deathshipping in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Right. I am starting another chaptered thiefshipping fic (although there will be deathshipping in later chapters as well.) XD This one is not as lighthearted as most of my stuff has been so far - not to say it's going to be all doom and gloom, it's just a bit more serious than any of my stories have been up to now (it's rated M for a reason, although those reasons won't happen for a few chapters yet). Of course, there will still be fluff, because this is ****_me _****we're talking about :P. It's set in an English university. I have tried to keep them IC, but sorry if they stray at all - I do my best. And, because I need some structure in my life, I am going to be updating this fic once a week; so, expect a new chapter every Thursday! (If anyone is wondering about my citronshipping fic 'Thievery Amongst the Ancients', I swear I haven't forgotten about it, and I will be updating it every Tuesday from now on.) Anyway, here is the first chapter; it's more of a setting-up-the-plot chapter than anything else, so it isn't super-exciting, but this fic will get better, I promise! Enjoy - Jem**

The boat edged its way into the harbour with practised ease, barely even needing the guiding beams from the lighthouse. It rose and fell with the sway of the sea, the shore inching ever closer, salty stench of the waters dwindling slightly the closer the boat travelled to civilisation. Distant smells of the city drifted through the still night air, replacing the tang of the open sea and causing Marik's nose to wrinkle as he leaned against the rail, wind ruffling his blonde tresses as he breathed in the salty stench of the harbour. He balked at the sight of such a distasteful city – it was cold and grey, drizzle filming the air and covering everything in a hazy dank mist. The last thing Marik wanted was to remain in this dirty city, but it was the only option left open to him now. Knowing he lacked any control in this situation only served to cause his features to crease up in revulsion and disgust.

Ishizu's last words rang deeply in his ears, weighing heavily on his mind. _"You've got to get out, it is far too dangerous for you to remain here. Odion and I will pull some strings, but you can never return."_

_"But it isn't fair!"_ His voice had sounded so childish, even to his own ears; he couldn't help but feel scorn for his own desperate pleading. _"I had to do it, the bastard deserved everything he got..."_

_"No one is denying that, Marik."_ Ishizu's voice had remained calm, even in the midst of her younger brother's seething temper tantrum. _"For better or for worse, it is done now. You have to leave. I'm sorry."_

_I'm sorry._

Those words echoed the most, and they were the most insincere of all. Marik scoffed as he rested his elbows against the rails of the boat, cold metal making him shiver as he watched the harbour sway ever closer and the blinking lights of the city draw near. _I'm sorry,_ but Ishizu wasn't sorry at all, was she? No, she didn't care, and neither did Odion for that matter; sure, Odion always looked out for Marik, but when it came down to it he had abandoned Marik just like the rest of them did, when they should all be fucking _grateful _to him! Marik had got rid of the biggest problem in all of their lives, effectively setting the three of them free; only he didn't get to enjoy that freedom, did he? Instead he was shipped off to some city of sin, forsaken by all the Gods and abandoned by the ones who were supposed to care about him. Well, he would show them. Marik would show them all.

Marik was coming to this city with nothing to lose and everything to gain, and he would be damned if he was going to let his past life in Egypt stop him from moving forwards.

The boat eventually drew into the shore, and Marik was among the first to leave. He stumbled through the dark and smelly alleyways of the city, ignoring the drunken shouts of other students as he searched for the right address, cursing his decision to take the latest boat he could. Marik dragged his suitcase along behind him, looking decidedly disgruntled. The buildings were becoming more rugged and run-down the further into the district he got, although he supposed that was only to be expected from student accommodation. It still didn't strike him as quite right though – to be a student was surely the highest rank in society, and demanded respect, did it not? He found himself thinking almost longingly back to the library he had spent so much time in back home, in Egypt; the room had been filled from top to bottom with shelves and shelves of books, scrolls and ancient scriptures, all there for the taking; the room had been purpose-built for studying. Time spent in there was sacred; special – it demanded respect and admiration, purification and spirituality; so very different this mess of buildings and tower blocks that passed for a university in this sorry corner of the world. Marik was most definitely not pleased. _The only good thing about this whole situation is that I at least get some independence now,_ he grumbled to himself. _No Ishizu breathing down my neck about the 'proper' way to behave, no Odion dogging my every move to make sure I'm alright. Just me, living alone. Should be bliss, right?_

Only, he knew that _bliss_ was exactly the opposite of what he was coming to. Bliss was wandering through the open sands of Egypt, relishing in the heat of the sun and being surrounded by servants to do his every bidding. Bliss was not having to take orders from anyone, and finally being free to go his own way. Bliss was most definitely _not_ being shipped out to dreary, rainy England, thrust among a group of other ignorant students with no real respect for the ancient ways, and being forced to study a subject that held no real interest to him. Yes, _bliss_ was most definitely not on the cards for Marik Ishtar – at least, not for the foreseeable future.

Allowing a huff of air to whizz past his teeth, Marik eventually found the right street. He was met with a soaring block of flats that shot up as far as he could see in the dull, fading air; there was just enough light remaining for him to discern a distinctly run-down looking building, surrounded by other flats and stuck right in the middle of the busiest part of the city. Heaving a sigh and thinking longingly of the sunny desert he had left mere hours ago, Marik forced himself up the stairs and into the reception. The assistant took his name and passed him his keys with a cheery smile, which he didn't return, before waving him on his way. Heaving his suitcase after him, Marik made it into the lift and hit the button for the sixth floor – just his luck to get shafted at the top of the building – and waited impatiently to get to his flat. A headache was forming just behind his temples, and Marik closed his eyes with a sigh; now, he was just looking forwards to getting into bed.

The lift doors edged open again and he was met with a blue corridor. With another deep sigh Marik forced his legs to move, lugging his heavy suitcase and finding the right door: Flat 6B, room 1. The only upside to this was that he wouldn't have a roommate; Marik had insisted to the accommodation company when he applied for a room that he would be left on his own. Usually that wouldn't be allowed, but they had let it slide this time because he was an international student travelling on his own. Of course, the fact that Marik had threatened to send Odion around with a knife had had no bearing on the matter whatsoever.

Marik slipped the key into the lock and turned it, the wooden door creaking open reluctantly. He was met with a simple four-bedroomed flat (strange, he thought, considering only one person would be living here) with an adjoining kitchen and bathroom. The kitchen had a living area complete with TV and computer, although Marik had of course brought his own laptop. As if he was going to use their run-down technology! After giving his new living surroundings a quick once-over Marik turned back to the hall and unlocked his room, dragging his suitcase behind him. It was a simple room, containing only a bed and a desk alongside a small wardrobe. He grimaced a little – even his bedroom in Egypt had been bigger than this. _Ah well. Beggars can't be choosers._ Not that he would _ever_ sink low enough to consider himself a beggar.

Marik flung his suitcase onto his bed, collapsing beside it and breathing a little heavily from exertion. It really had been a long day. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to drift closed, settling further into the bed and releasing a tired sigh. He would sort himself out tomorrow; for now, it was late, and sleep was feeling really attractive just now...

_Crash._

Marik's body shot upright without his full knowledge, his instincts honed from his life in Egypt as he surveyed his room carefully. It was empty save for himself and his suitcase. Marik breathed out, settling back down and rolling onto his side, giving his suitcase a kick; it fell with a dull _thud_ onto the floor. There was another rustle but Marik ignored it, thinking it was probably just a mouse or something; it wouldn't surprise him at all to find that this decrepit block of flats had some kind of infestation. When the rustle turned into a clang, followed by a loud curse, however, Marik decided to take it a bit more seriously.

Hauling himself upright, Marik stepped hesitantly towards his door, feet as light as he could make them. With a swallow he pressed his ear to the hard wood – it was rough beneath his soft, sensitive skin, making him suppress a shudder as he listened carefully. There was definitely someone out there – he could hear movement, and a hiss that might have been a tap. The kitchen?

Yes. There was someone in his kitchen.

Marik sucked in a breath, quickly scouring his room; why was there never anything sharp close to hand?! He whirled to his suitcase, tugging on the zip and forcing his hand in, searching until his hand came into contact with a familiar blade. He stood up again quickly, knife balanced in his hand as he edged back towards the door, pressing his ear to the wood once again. There were still muffled sounds of movement coming from the kitchen. Marik drew in a breath, holding the air in his lungs before twisting the handle and throwing himself across the hallway, pushing straight into the kitchen with the knife brandished in front of him.

There was another crash, a hiss and a surprised shout of, "What the hell?!" Before Marik straightened up and took stock of his surroundings. There was a saucepan on the floor, leaking some runny liquid that looked suspiciously like an attempt at soup all over the stiff lino floor, wooden spoon lying abandoned next to it. There were also two bare, pale feet sticking out of the bottom of a pair of loose back trousers, leading up a thin, pale body and ending in a white head of hair and a very pissed-off brown glare. A white eyebrow was raised. "Who the hell are you?"

Marik's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, who the hell am I? More importantly, who the hell are _you?_!"

"I," The low, disgruntled voice continued, "Happen to live here. Get out of my flat."

Marik just stared. "You live here? You can't! _You_ get out of _my_ flat!"

The brown eyes watched him impassively, utterly devoid of emotion. "This isn't your flat. I've lived here for over a year. Shut the door on your way out." He looked back at the mess of soup at his feet, lips twisting into a sneer. "Actually, you can clear this mess up first. You've ruined my dinner, idiot."

Marik hissed through his teeth, fury marring his usually smooth features. "_Excuse me?_"

"You heard me." The other man didn't even bother looking at him, instead turning towards the hob and switching off the flame. "Oh, incidentally, don't try anything with that knife; I've got three down my back."

Marik spluttered, striving to form a coherent sentence. "Listen you, I don't care who you think you are, or what sort of a fuck-up this is, but I am going to sort this out. Clearly, they've put you in the wrong flat."

A snort was all that came from the pale one, his back still firmly turned to Marik. "Didn't you hear me before? I've lived here _over a year._ If anyone's in the wrong flat, it's you; you're a new student, yes? They must have just given you the wrong keys, or something."

Marik hissed. "They'd better have, because I ordered them to let me live alone."

The other shot him a mildly amused look over one pale shoulder. "Good luck with that one. These flats are full to bursting."

"They'll let me," Marik responded confidently, folding his arms with the knife still tightly gripped in one hand. "And you seem to live alone just fine."

The other just smirked. "That's because all my old flatmates moved out. Couldn't cope with living with me, or something. I imagine you will be much the same."

Marik bristled at that. "I'm not sticking around, genius. You'd better not be lying to me."

"As if. And good luck finding a new flat now; all the courses start tomorrow."

Marik growled. "They had better fucking sort this out. I'm calling the accommodation company."

"You do that," The pale man responded coolly, "And leave me in peace to sort out my dinner. Clean up that mess on the floor first, though."

Marik simply turned his back and stalked out of the kitchen, one hand dipping into his pocket to find his phone.

...

"What do you _mean,_ you can't find my records?" Marik hissed into the phone, free hand twisting in his hair. He paced his bedroom impatiently, glancing at his watch – half an hour! Half a fucking hour he had been dealing with this ridiculous woman's incompetence, and she _still_ hadn't sorted this mess out! "I told you, my name is Marik _Ishtar._ Ishtar. I-S-H ... well if you know, why haven't you fucking _sorted this yet?"_ He drew in a tight breath as she started babbling again, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a finger to his temple. This was _not_ how he wanted to spend his evening. "Yes," he said with deceptive calm, "I was told to move into this room. But there is someone else in this flat, and I was promised a flat on my own. No flatmates. Got that?"

There was more babbling before the woman finally said, "I see. And wh-what is your flatmate's name?"

"He isn't my _flatmate,_" Marik spat, "And how the fuck should I know?"

"Sir, please do not swear, I am trying to deal with this – "

"Just fucking sort it out then!" Marik roared, throwing his hand in the air.

"If you tell me his name..."

"Oh Gods, _fine!"_ Marik threw his door open, striding quickly into the kitchen and glaring at the pale man, who was now sat at the table with a bowl of soup in front of him; the first attempt was still lying on the floor. "What the fuck is your name?"

The pale one merely lifted a brow, taking his time to swallow before answering, "And why, pray tell, is that any business of yours?"

"They fucking need it to sort this mess out!" Marik gestured wildly to his phone, face contorting with his rage.

"Well, that's a shame," The other smiled widely. "Because I don't plan on telling you."

Marik swore loudly, ignoring the protestations sounding loudly from his phone. "Just fucking tell me, alright? Then I'll be out of your way."

"I look forward to it." The other took another mouthful, pointedly ignoring Marik.

The Egyptian had soon had enough.

Marik stormed across the kitchen, bending down enough to thrust his face directly into the other's, close enough to see the whites of his eyes. "Just. Tell. Me. Your. Name."

"No." His voice was cold now, slipping like ice through the frozen air. "I don't respond to intimidation, particularly by the likes of you."

Marik hissed vehemently before trying another tack. "Well, I didn't realise you wanted me to stick around so much. Are you really that desperate for company?"

The other growled, deep in his throat, before standing up and finding himself exactly at Marik's eye level. "Don't you presume to know me, idiot."

"Then tell me your name, and I'll be out of your hair!"

"Bakura," Spat the pale one. "Now get out of my face."

Marik backed off gladly, pressing the phone to his ear as he turned away from the other's hard stare. "He says his name is Bakura ... I don't know what the fuck his surname is – "

"Touzoku," Hissed the cool voice, "And don't spread that name around, got it?"

Marik merely rolled his eyes in response, speaking quickly into the phone. "Yes, Bakura Touzoku, I said – well, yes, that's what I've been trying to get you to do all the ti..." Marik stopped talking, staring at his phone in surprise as the woman squeaked and cut the line off. "Well, that was strange..."

The one called Bakura scoffed. "What, she hung up on you? Can't say I'm surprised."

Marik sent him a questioning look. "Oh?"

"...Let's just say my name is rather notorious around here."

Marik scoffed. "Whatever." He was about to start redialling when the phone rang suddenly and he answered it with a disgruntled, "What?"

"Am I speaking to Bakura Touzoku?"

"No, you are not," Marik snorted. "I am Marik Ishtar. I need you to get me _away_ from Bakura Touzoku."

There was a muffled laugh from beside him as Marik continued speaking into the phone. "Yes, I was assigned to this room ... no, I was told I would be living alone ... In that case I want to speak to the manager ... well, if that's you then you should be able to sort me out! ... I was _promised_ a single flat ... Oh, well, fuck you then!" Marik hung up, angrily tossing the phone across the kitchen. "Asshole!"

Bakura lifted a brow as he moved his bowl and pan to the sink. "What's your problem?"

"You! You are my fucking problem!" Marik rubbed a hand across his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Apparently there are no other rooms left available. They refuse to move me!"

Bakura turned to face him completely at that, a scowl hovering over his features. "You can't stay here."

"Tell me about it!" Marik growled. "But I can't go anywhere else. So, looks like I'm stuck with you. Fucking _hell._" Marik massaged his forehead with a groan. "You're going to have to move out."

"Like hell I am," Bakura hissed. "You're the intruder here. Get the hell out of my flat."

"I don't have any choice!" Marik glared. "I can't live on the streets."

"Neither can I."

"Well, you're English at least! You must have some family you can stay with, or something..."

In a flash Bakura was right in Marik's face, pale hands capturing his wrists and twisting sadistically, making Marik grind his teeth together in order to remain silent. Bakura leaned closer, brown eyes dangerously cold. "You," He hissed, "Never presume to know anything about me. Stay out of my way, and don't you fucking _dare_ touch any of my stuff. Clearly, neither of us want to be in this situation, so you will stay here until you can sort out another flat, and then you will _get out._ Got it?" Bakura released Marik's wrists and stepped away, not breaking eye contact as he continued: "And clear up that mess on the floor. I won't live in a shithole."

Marik found his voice again, grinding out, "It's _your_ fucking mess, _you_ clean it up."

"No." Bakura turned without a backwards glance, stalking out of the kitchen, door swinging shut behind him with a sense of finality.

Marik stared after him, jaw falling open. "...What a pleasant man." He turned with disgust to survey the room, wrinkling his nose at the mess of now-dried soup covering the kitchen. Like hell he was clearing that up – it wasn't his fault that idiot had dropped the pan, after all. The smell was making his stomach rumble, though, so he decided to raid the cupboards; Bakura had actually stocked the kitchen fairly well, although it was all canned or frozen food that made his lip curl in distaste. He helped himself to a frozen pizza, shoving it in the oven and exploring the rest of the cupboards whilst he waited for it to cook. The kitchen was bland and grey, equipped with only basic tools. There was nothing personal scattered anywhere, which Marik thought a little odd considering Bakura had claimed that he'd lived here for a year already. The oven beeped soon enough and Marik scarfed his pizza down, shoving his plate messily into the sink beside Bakura's before heading back to his room. He was tired, so he fell back onto the bed without bothering to change, ignoring his unpacked suitcase as his eyes slid shut. It had been a long day, that was for sure, and it had _not_ ended in a satisfactory way. At _all._ Bakura had been absolutely insufferable! The idea of having to live with him, even for a short space of time, was completely impossible. No, Marik would have to get rid of him before then – there was no way they were living together; tonight had been proof enough that _that_ would never work.

Marik rolled onto his side, letting out a small groan. He tried to forget that he was in a small, grimy room in a small, grubby flat, lying on a lumpy mattress on the sixth floor of some crummy building that was barely fit to live in, under a dull black sky in a country he really didn't want to be in. Instead, he allowed his dreams to take him back to sunny Egypt, with its endless deserts and warm, humid air, where there were no arrogant, pale young men getting in the way of his life.

Marik drifted into an uneasy sleep, trying his best not to think about what was waiting for him tomorrow.

**That's a beginning, anyway. Next chapter out next week, see you then! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed - Jem**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the next chapter, updated later than I wanted but, well, it's still Thursday so it's fine, right? ^_^ Thanks to all who have read/favourited/followed/reviewed, I am really grateful! I should also say a massive thanks to Miss Macabre Grey for helping me with the first part of the last chapter. I forgot to mention before. I love you, Grey!**

**To Sam: Thank you so much for reviewing all my works! I am so pleased you are still around ^_^ And I'm flattered you're spamming my fics! Thanks so much for your support. It means a lot. XD**

**I shall shut up now. XD Enjoy! - Jem**

From the moment Marik opened his eyes, he could tell that he wasn't where he wanted to be. His alarm was ringing incessantly in his ears, piercing his sleep-addled brain until he drew enough of his senses together to smash his fist on the button at the top, rolling and burying his head under his pillow to catch a few more minutes of sleep. His head was pounding and his body aching from a night of broken sleep on a lumpy mattress. He had already had enough of this; his home in Egypt had been far from luxurious, but he had been hoping for a change when he finally left, not more of the same!

His alarm buzzed once more and Marik groaned, smacking it clear off the bedside table with one swipe of his arm; it landed with enough force to knock the batteries out. _Well, at least that shut it up for good!_ Marik lay still for a moment longer, head pressed beneath his pillow, before he remembered that his course was starting today and he would need to be presentable. With a frustrated growl he clambered out of bed, throwing one disgruntled glare to the dull grey sky out of his window before exiting his room and heading straight for the bathroom. His thoughts trailed to his unwanted pale roommate as he turned the shower on, and a scowl quickly decorated his features. That guy had been such a bastard! Marik had been promised a flat on his own; he was going to have to go and have words with the accommodation officer today. He resolved to talk to the receptionist on his way out of the building, because he sure as hell wasn't going to live with that disagreeable fool for long.

The shower ran cold far sooner than Marik wanted it too, and he growled as he stepped out and back into his clothes. Making his way to the kitchen and avoiding the soup that was still lying congealed on the floor, Marik settled on just grabbing an apple from Bakura's selection before heading back to his room. His closed suitcase still lay haphazardly on the floor where he had kicked it yesterday, but he wasn't going to bother with unpacking it now – instead, he just dug around until he found what he would need for his lectures that day. His notepad, of course, was coming with him, as he would most likely be required to show some of his artistic skills in his first class, but other than that he really wasn't sure what to expect. They hadn't even been given a timetable or anything yet! Chewing on his apple, Marik sat cross-legged next to his suitcase and flicked through some of his earlier work. The first picture he turned to made his nose wrinkle; he had been such a sap when he was younger. He remembered this picture, as well, because it had been the first time he had drawn on actual paper instead of just tracing patterns in the dirt – he had been so proud, running to show his siblings the way he had drawn the three of them entering the desert with the sun at their backs. Odion had patted him on the back, but now that Marik thought back, Ishizu had mostly just looked sad. Well, he hadn't drawn many pictures after that; it hadn't taken his father long to discover his newest distraction.

Marik growled at that thought, pushing all memories to the back of his mind as he turned the pages, flicking through his earliest efforts. All those stupid coloured drawings from when he was younger, the ones that still lay innocently in the first few pages of the pad, were just a source of shame to him now. With a growl he ripped them out, shoving them under his bed and far out of sight before standing and rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms high into the air. He dug out his pencils and colours before shoving them in a bag and swiping up his keys; no harm in being early, especially as he wanted to speak to the receptionist before he left.

Unfortunately, his flatmate had other ideas.

Marik had barely made it out of his room before a pale hand shot out and knocked him sideways. Marik's quick instincts had him sending a punch of his own, but his wrist was caught in a grip hard enough to mark his tanned skin as his back was pushed up against the wall, and a sharp bony elbow was pressed into the hollow beneath his shoulder, keeping him firmly in place. Furious, Marik raised livid violet eyes to meet a cool, brown gaze that bored straight through his skull.

Bakura spoke first. "I told you to clean up your mess."

"What?" Marik barely even registered the words through the haze of red that was swimming around in his skull, but it seemed that Bakura didn't like his answer because the pressure on his wrist and shoulder increased.

"I _said," _Growled that low, rasping voice, "That I told you to clean up your fucking mess. Why the fuck is there still soup on my kitchen floor?"

Marik eventually collected enough of his senses to snap back a sharp retort, shifting against the wall to ease the pressure in his chest. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? Get your filthy hands off me."

Bakura snarled. "Don't you talk to me like that, you insolent brat. Get in the kitchen and clean up your mess, and if I find even the tiniest morsel of my food missing there will be hell to pay."

"Shut up." Marik stared defiantly into his eyes, feeling his control on his temper slip with each word that escaped Bakura's mouth. "You've got no fucking right to order me about like this, so get the hell off me and I'll be on my way."

"I have _every _right to order you about, Ishtar," Bakura snapped, voice sharp. "I let you stay in that room last night, but you had better get the hell out by this evening."

Marik lowered his brows. "About that, I couldn't agree more; I'm not staying in this rat-hole any longer than I absolutely have too. I _was_ on my way to talk to the accommodation officer, but you felt the need to accost me." Marik looked pointedly at Bakura's elbow, but Bakura merely leaned closer.

"I'd better not see you tonight," Bakura hissed, wild white hair falling in torrents around his face. "And this _rat-hole_ had better be in the exact state it was _before_ you decided to show up and ruin everything. Otherwise, I will find you, and you will be sorry. Got it?"

Marik snorted. "You don't scare me, asshole. Now get the fuck off me."

Bakura released him slowly, staring him down a moment longer before turning and striding back to his own room. Marik breathed out, rubbing his shoulder. _What a bastard. The sooner I'm out of here, the better._ He retrieved his bag and keys, locking the door to his room securely before heading out of the flat, although once he reached the corridor he took a moment to lean against the wall, dropping his head in his hands. He had had enough of aggression in Egypt to last him a lifetime, and the last thing he needed now was an antagonistic bastard for a living companion. _That receptionist better be fucking able to sort this out._

Too wound up to wait for the lift, Marik pelted his way down six flights of stairs instead, relishing in the release of energy and tension the activity gave him. He left his block and made straight for reception, leaning forwards on the desk and glaring at the receptionist. "I need to talk to the accommodation officer."

The lady blinked up at him from behind her laptop screen. "What is it about?"

"There's been a mix up with my room booking."

She nodded once, tapping away at the laptop for a moment. "Your name, please?"

"Marik Ishtar." Marik would be lying if he said that he didn't feel a small flutter of flattery at the way the lady's face blanched at the mention of his name. He thought he had recognised her voice from the phone yesterday.

She swallowed, determinedly not meeting his eyes as she continued typing. "R-right, well, I have informed him that you would like an appointment..."

"I wouldn't _like an appointment,"_ Marik sneered. "I need to see him. Now."

"Um, well, he isn't in the office until the afternoon..."

"Then make sure I _fucking see him then,"_ Marik hissed before turning away.

The lady was quaking; he could tell from her voice. "Y-you will receive a letter, sir..."

Getting a sudden idea, Marik turned back to her with a wide, insincere smile plastered across his face. "Well, good. I'll make sure my flatmate _Bakura_ picks it up, then."

Predictably, the woman squeaked as her face paled even more. "Oh, please tell him that the appointment will be ASAP. We know not to keep Mr. Touzoku waiting long..."

Marik merely scoffed before turning and exiting the building, relishing being back out in the open air again.

Marik found his way to his university building by the simple expedient of following everyone else. The streets were teeming with students of all shapes and sizes, colours and accents, but Marik felt a twinge of pride when he realised he was probably one of the most exotic people there. He turned a corner and finally saw the main university building, entering along with everyone else to find a large atrium lined with desks and stalls. People were lining up according to their subject, and so Marik reluctantly traipsed his way across the squeaky-clean floors to join the area marked 'Art History'. The queue was small, thankfully, and so Marik only had to wait for one person before making his way to the front. A friendly looking woman greeted him with a smile. "Hello there! And you are?"

"Marik Ishtar." Marik drew a breath, allowing his impatience to show a little in his tone.

The woman merely smiled, handing him his timetable and pointing him up a flight of stairs. "Your lecture room is the third door on the left," She explained, waving him away and turning to the next person. Marik climbed the stairs with heavy feet and a small coil of something very close to nerves in his gut; he was certainly feeling jumpier than he had expected. Being in a room full of strangers was less comfortable then he thought it would be. Rejecting his rather foolish thoughts, Marik reached the top of the stairs and turned to the third door, pulling it open without bothering to knock.

The room was smaller than he expected, with rows of seats leading down to a small stage at the bottom; that, presumably, was where the lecturer would speak from. The room was maybe half-full, with plenty of rows left unoccupied; Marik quickly sidled into one in the middle of the room, slipping along the row until he was seated as far away from the centre aisle as he could be. There were small desks attached to each seat, and he rested his elbows on his one and allowed his head to drop into his hands, steadfastly ignoring all the sidelong looks he was receiving from the other occupants of the room.

The room slowly filled up and Marik eventually raised his head, looking around and releasing a heavy sigh. There were hardly any seats left, and more people were still streaming through the door, so most likely he would end up with other people on his row. Sure enough, no sooner had he thought that than another student made his slow way over, wending his way through the desks and edging up Marik's row. Instead of stopping a respectable distance away, as Marik wished he would, the guy didn't stop until he was sat in the seat directly next to Marik.

Marik rolled his eyes and allowed his head to drop into his hands again.

Surprisingly, the person beside him let out a low chuckle. "You not much into company either, hm?"

"You can say that again." Marik cracked open one eye to peer at his new companion, taking in pale skin, spiky hair and a deep gaze that seemed to read far more than he wanted it to.

A hand was extended. "My name is Yami."

Marik lowered his hands, but made no move to take his.

The other merely smiled. "At least tell me your name."

"Marik." Marik turned to face the front, crossing his arms on his desk.

"Well, Marik, I promise not to talk to you much. I'm not really one for company either."

Marik shot Yami a sideways glance, eyebrows raised high. "In that case, why are you still talking?"

"I'm not, anymore," Yami's smile grew. "You are, though."

Marik stopped for a moment before feeling his lips tug upwards a little. "Huh. Guess so. Don't expect much conversation, though."

"I won't." Yami lifted his bag and rummaged for a moment, pulling out a sketchpad much the same as Marik's. "Why art history?"

Marik merely sent him a glare.

Yami raised his hands. "You don't have to tell me. I'm just curious."

"Well, go be curious about someone else," Marik muttered, turning away. "I've had enough of people trying to fucking talk to me."

"Well, sorry." Yami raised a brow. "It's a little early to already be irritated with people though, isn't it?"

"You haven't met my flatmate."

"...Ah." Yami suddenly looked a lot more understanding. "Who is it? I'm local, so I may well know them."

Marik allowed a huff of air to escape his closed lips. "Trust me, you would know if you knew him. His name is apparently infamous. He's an arrogant bastard with real people issues."

"What's his name?" Yami seemed genuinely curious now. "It wouldn't be Bakura Touzoku, would it?"

Marik's jaw dropped. He turned to face Yami with a quick shake of his head. "You have got to be kidding me. Is this guy, like, famous in England, or something?"

Yami chuckled, although the sound was dark and a little strained. "Not famous, exactly, but his name is certainly known. Technically, he shouldn't even be here; he was kicked out at the end of last year."

"Seriously?" Marik looked over, surprised. "What did he do?"

Yami shook his head. "I don't know the details, but he's rather notorious. I'd stay away from him if I were you."

"Believe me, I'm trying to," Marik growled. "What the hell is his problem?"

"Why? What has he done?" Yami met Marik's gaze with worry deep in his eyes. "Has he hurt you?"

Marik scoffed. "He wishes. No, but he seems to have a fetish for threatening me. It's fucking irritating."

Yami nodded slowly. "He has a lot of problems. Just steer clear of him."

"You know him then?" Despite himself, Marik felt a flicker of interest burning deep in his gut; he assumed because any information he had about that arrogant jerk would be useful ammo if ever he needed it.

Yami looked away from him a little, eyes turning a little sad. "He ... has had a difficult life."

Marik stayed quiet for a moment before snorting, loudly. "I don't care if he's been drowned every day since birth, he still shouldn't be such a bastard."

"Well, yes," Yami admitted quietly, "I know he can be difficult."

"You can say that again!" Marik shook his head, feeling the beginnings of rage stir in his stomach once again. "You should have seen him this morning. Had me pinned against a wall just because he dropped some soup in the kitchen!"

Yami shook his head, a smile playing about his lips although there were still little worried creases around his eyes. "Just, steer clear from him."

"Too damn right," Marik muttered, resolving to go back to the receptionist later to make sure he had that appointment. No way was he staying in that flat for long.

Luckily, the professor came in just then and the room quietened, meaning that Yami had to stop talking. Marik listened to the professor for a few moments before nodding off; all the woman on the stage was talking about was boring warnings about how important it was to show up for lectures and to do the work. Marik had his timetable, and he would show up to what he thought was most interesting. He would keep up with work just enough so as not to fail, so that Ishizu and Odion wouldn't panic, but other than that he simply planned to have fun. He knew how to study, having been forced to read endlessly for most of his childhood, so he didn't think he would have too many problems.

The lectures lasted hours, although nothing useful was imparted to the waiting students. They were introduced to all the various lecturers and specialists, but Marik just watched, bored, until eventually he pulled out a pencil and started doodling in his notepad. His thoughts strayed back to the most prominent problem on his mind: Bakura. He was completely insufferable, disrespectful, and your average asshole, and he _certainly_ wasn't someone that Marik wanted to associate with. Marik had come here as a way to _escape_ trouble, and so the last thing he needed was to be forced to mix with a troublemaker. He stabbed his pencil into the sheet angrily, relishing in the dark black mark that formed; he expanded it, working with swift, smooth strokes as he sketched out a pair of deep, staring eyes.

"That's really good." Yami's voice made Marik jump, and he looked around with a raised brow. Yami caught the look and smiled. "You are very talented."

Marik merely rolled his eyes. "Everyone here is, surely? It is an art history course."

"No," Yami shook his head. "I'm only here for the history. We don't have to actually draw for the course, you know."

That brought Marik up short. He stopped for a moment, blinking. "...Seriously? But it's an art course!"

"Art history," Yami corrected, a small crease appearing in his brow. "Did you not check the course description before you applied?"

Marik shook his head, frowning. "I just picked the first course that looked vaguely irritating. The main objective was to get out of Egypt..."

"Egypt?" Yami leaned forwards, interested. "Is that where you're from?" Marik sent him a sharp look, and Yami backed away. "Alright, I won't push you."

Marik turned back to the front, where the professors were just wrapping up. "Good." He could sense Yami's questioning stare, but he didn't turn to face him. It didn't take much longer for the lecture to be over, and Marik was up out of his seat before Yami could ask him any more questions.

Marik headed straight back to his building, stopping briefly at a shop to pick up some basic ingredients so that he could actually cook a proper meal that evening. His stomach growled lowly, reminding him that all he had eaten that day was an apple, but he ignored it as he headed down the street, shopping bag swinging from his hand. Upon entering reception, Marik went back over to the desk, clicking his fingers rudely at the receptionist. It was a man this time, who eyed him with a slightly disgruntled glare. "Can I help you?"

Marik rolled his eyes a little. "Of course; why else would I have called you? I need to know if I've had an appointment booked with the accommodation officer. My name is Marik Ishtar."

The man turned to his computer, tapping briefly before turning back to face him. "You've been sent a letter with an appointment time. It should come through in a couple of days."

"I need it sooner than that," Marik hissed. The idea of living with Bakura, even for just a few days, was entirely disagreeable.

The receptionist merely shook his head. "You've been offered the nearest possible time."

"I need it sooner..."

"I can't do anything about that," The man interrupted. "Once you get the letter you can ring the number to try and bring it forwards, but I doubt they'll be able to do anything for you. The accommodation officer is a busy man."

Marik growled, turning away from the desk and slamming his way through the doors and into his block. He paced angrily whilst waiting for the lift, bag bouncing against his thigh as his brows lowered. He could not deal with another episode like this morning. If he had to stay for a while longer, Marik would just have to show Bakura who was boss.

The lift finally arrived and Marik hurried into it, ignoring the babble of students around him as he settled into a corner. It had been raining, and his blonde hair stuck messily to his forehead; he shook it away as best as he could, ignoring the grimaces from the people around him. The lift cleared the nearer it got to the top, and Marik was the only one left by the time it reached the sixth floor. He sighed as he stepped out, edging up to his flat door and pausing with his keys in the lock, reluctant to turn it. What if Bakura was still in? Marik was tired, and hungry, and most definitely _not_ in the mood for another shouting match. All he really wanted was to curl up in bed with a hot meal and a good book; if Bakura was in, however, the likelihood of that happening was miniscule. _Better to just get this over with._ With a long drawn out sigh, Marik twisted his keys and pushed the door open, stepping reluctantly into the flat and letting it swing shut behind him.

He stopped, shocked, in the middle of the tiny hallway, fingers going slack as he dropped his bags to the floor.

Music was filtering through the flat, but this wasn't anything like Marik had ever heard before; it was flowing and beautiful, rippling through the air like a droplet in still water. Marik stood, mesmerised, with his head tilted to the side. He didn't recognise the instrument – it certainly wasn't one he had come across, not that he had been exposed to much popular culture in Egypt – but it had a gorgeous, smooth tone. The piece itself was obviously very complex, with various melodies and accompaniments interweaving with each other, dynamics rising and falling with each phrase. Needless to say, it was the most astoundingly wondrous thing Marik had ever heard in his life.

All too soon, the music came to an abrupt stop. Marik remained frozen in place, eyes glazed over as he allowed the last few notes to wash over him; that was, until the door to his left flew open and a pale figure strode out, almost walking straight into him.

Bakura lifted a brow. "Having fun, Ishtar?"

Marik jumped, instantly pulled out of his daze as he found himself fixed with that piercing brown stare. Marik swallowed, turning to him with wide eyes. "Where did that music go?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "I stopped practising. Move; I want food."

"Wait ... that was _you?!"_ Marik twisted to stand directly in front of him, snapping his jaw closed when he realised he was gaping. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm bloody serious. Shift, Ishtar." Bakura moved to step forwards but Marik was too stunned to move.

"I can't believe that was you..."

"Well, it was. What is your fucking problem?" Bakura folded his arms, glaring harshly at Marik.

Marik shook his head. "No fucking way was that you. It was beautiful! And you're so..."

Bakura snorted. "Careful, Ishtar. You don't want to offend me."

"But I don't get it!" Marik was talking without thinking, his mind trying to capture as much of the wonderful sounds as he could remember. "What even was it? It was incredible..."

"Honestly, you act as if you've never heard a piano before." Bakura lifted a brow, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. "Please, don't tell me you've never heard of a piano."

Marik's jaw fell open again as he looked at Bakura, but his gaze soon hardened. "Of course I have!"

"Oh, really?" Bakura leaned languidly against the doorframe, his smirk widening. "What does it look like, then?"

Marik snapped his jaw shut, glaring, as Bakura started to cackle. "Shut up! We aren't all posh English folk, you know."

Bakura scoffed at that. "Please. It's plainly obvious that_ you_ have no class. However, I'm almost positive that pianos are found everywhere."

"Not where I'm from," Marik muttered sullenly, turning away and scooping up his bags. He headed into the kitchen, mildly surprised when light footsteps signalled Bakura following him. Marik resolved to ignore him, setting his bags on the table and opening the one with food, taking out his ingredients.

"You can use the cupboard in the far corner," Bakura's voice rasped. "It's pretty much empty, I think. Not that you'll be staying long."

Marik shot him a glare over one shoulder. "I'll need more than one cupboard; your food is crap."

"It isn't like you'll be here for long."

"Unfortunately," Marik ground out, "I have to live here for a few days at least. They've arranged a meeting with the accommodation officer for then."

Bakura rolled his eyes, heading to fridge. "Just keep out of my way."

"You bet I will." Marik opened some cupboards, moving some items around until he had three to use for his own. He could sense Bakura's eyes on him, and so he shot him a question. "Why are you still here, anyway, if you got kicked out at the end of last year?"

Silence weighed heavily in the kitchen, but Marik didn't turn from his task. Eventually, Bakura's dark chuckle ran through the room. "I see my reputation is preceding me."

Marik shrugged. "Just answer the question."

"If you must know," Bakura sounded faintly amused, "They will let me back in, because I am too talented for them to lose."

"...Right." The disbelief was apparent in Marik's tone as he finally shot Bakura a look. "Despite the fact that you're an utter asshole with a superiority complex and a fetish for threatening people."

Bakura merely grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "You know me so well."

Marik shook his head, turning his back and storing away the rest of his food, leaving out a few ingredients for his favourite Egyptian meal. "I'm just observant. I don't know you at all."

"Oh, observant, are you?" Bakura sat at the table, watching as Marik hunted for a saucepan but making no move to help him. "You aren't nearly as clever as you think you are, Ishtar."

"Whatever." Marik continued opening cupboards until, exasperated, he turned back to the pale idiot in the corner. "Where the hell do you keep your stuff?"

Bakura's eyes were laughing at him. "You're not using anything else until you clean up the soup. The floor's getting sticky."

"Well, I guess it sucks to be it then," Marik snarled. "Just tell me where your fucking pans are."

Bakura leaned back, arms folded and head tilted upwards arrogantly. "Not until you clean up my kitchen."

"Like you said, it's _your_ kitchen," Marik threw a falsely sweet smile over his shoulder as he finally located the pans. "So _you_ get the honour of clearing it up."

Bakura merely grinned. "Oh, no, trust me, it will be cleared before you move out of here. And don't use the oven; I'm about to use it."

Marik took in his relaxed position with a raised brow. "Sure you are. I was going to use the hob, anyway."

"Good." Bakura rose fluidly, heading to the freezer and pulling out some ready meal or other. "By the way, I expect you to replace my pizza and my apple."

Marik rolled his eyes. "Somehow, I knew you'd be anal enough to categorise everything you have in your kitchen."

"Well, naturally," Bakura smirked, heading to the oven. "Move."

Marik sighed loudly, moving ever so slightly out of the way. Bakura had to stand right beside him to get to the oven; Marik grinned as he let out an irritated sound. "What? Can't deal with standing next to me?"

"I can't deal with you being in my flat, Ishtar, let alone having to share my stuff with you."

"Oh, come on," Marik scoffed. "I'm not using your stuff. Your food is all crap."

Bakura lifted a brow as he shoved his food in the oven. "We weren't all brought up in some dark cell in Egypt, you know."

Marik dropped his spoon. "The fuck did you just say?"

Bakura merely smirked, still standing far too close; Marik could feel his breath on the back of his neck. "You heard me."

Marik whirled around to glare him, ignoring the fact that they were now practically touching. He could feel a twist of fury growing in his gut as he stared Bakura down, their eyes exactly level with each other as their gazes met. When Marik spoke, his tone was low and throbbing with anger. "You know nothing about me or my past, bastard."

"Well, that's where you're wrong," Bakura responded smoothly, apparently unruffled. "You're quite obviously Egyptian, you're accent gives that away, and I could tell from a mile off that you clearly haven't seen enough of the sun in your life. Couple that with the fact that you have never heard of a piano and you quite obviously have anger issues, I predict that you grew up in some dark hole in Egypt. Then, you've never mentioned a family and you're obviously here alone, so you must have had some huge traumatic event – probably that you were involved with, which would explain the anger – that has led to you being here when you'd quite clearly rather be anywhere else. Am I close, _Ishtar?"_

Marik gaped. He found himself unable to do anything other than stare in shock at his pale companion, who was now smirking arrogantly with his arms folded, his feet planted firmly still far too close for Marik's comfort. Needless to say, Marik was shocked; how in the hell had Bakura worked out so much from so little time spent together?

Bakura grinned. "I think this proves I am the more observant one, hm?"

"You asshole," Marik eventually ground out, pulling his senses together. "The fuck do you know anything about me."

"Oh, but by your reaction it is quite clear that I do." Bakura shot out a hand as Marik tried to turn, gripping onto his shoulders to keep him firmly in place. Marik shuddered at the unwanted touch as Bakura leaned closer still. "So, traumatic past, hm? I suppose one that you'd rather I didn't bandy about. It would be a shame if I happened to let something slip..."

"Get the hell off me," Marik spat. "And think what you like. You have nothing to tell."

"Yet. Give me time, Ishtar." Bakura released him slowly, backing away. "I think you're burning your food."

Marik span back around, cursing loudly when he saw Bakura was right. "Damn you, you fucking idiot. I needed to eat that!"

"I'm sure you can rescue it." Bakura sat back down, stretching languidly. "Just get a move on – mine will be ready in a minute."

"Fucking asshole," Marik hissed, quickly spooning his food onto a plate. "You're lucky if I don't just turn the oven off right now."

"Oh, go on. _I dare you."_

Marik caught Bakura's threatening tone and turned to see him sending him a dangerous glare. Marik rolled his eyes, picking up his plate and heading for the door. "Calm down. I'm going to eat. I hope I never see you again."

"Sure, Ishtar." Bakura watched him go with an indiscernible flash to his brown gaze. "You keep thinking that if you want."

Marik ignored him, stalking back into his room. Bakura remained in his seat, staring after the blonde Egyptian for a long moment; he didn't even notice when the smell of burning food filled the air.

**Finished for now! Next update out next Thursday. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is chapter 3! I feel like not very much is happening in this story so far, but it does get more interesting. All my stories seem to start slow ... just bear with me. ^_^ Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, faved and followed, I am very grateful. Enjoy this chapter! - Jem**

The next few evenings passed in relative peace, and Marik was surprised by how quickly he settled in to his new routine. His classes were easygoing, leaving him plenty of time to pursue his own interests, which currently were drawing in his room, playing games on his laptop and finding out everything he possibly could about his disagreeable flatmate. Yami proved to be an invaluable source where this was concerned, as he had grown up with Bakura and knew far more about his past than he would let on. Marik found himself in the same seminar group as Yami, and as such had plenty of opportunities to quiz him about the pale bastard Marik was forced to live with.

"You shouldn't judge him so harshly," Was Yami's favourite response to Marik's constant complaints. "He's had a hard life."

"Who hasn't?" Marik would usually reply, his voice laced with bitterness mostly aimed at himself. Yami had quizzed Marik about his own past, but the Egyptian remained close-lipped on the subject, often just standing up and moving desks if Yami ever brought the subject up.

"Alright," Yami conceded with a small smile, his hands effortlessly taking notes on the lecture whilst simultaneously holding a quiet conversation with his neighbour. "I know Bakura isn't the only one who has had a lot to deal with, but you _are_ being a little harsh. He came here to escape, after all."

Marik had grunted at that, muttering, "Well, he should go escape somewhere else. Preferably far away from me. What has he even got to complain about, anyway? He's a brilliant musician studying at a top university; his career is pretty much made, right? What the fuck has he got to worry about?"

Yami merely shook his head, his lips turning downward. "You speak of what you don't know, Marik."

"Well maybe if you told me, I wouldn't be so judgemental."

"Why do you even care?" Yami actually looked away from the presentation the professor was giving to fix Marik with a knowing stare. "If you hate him as much as you claim to, why are you so interested in him?"

_That_ brought Marik up short. He blinked, temper flaring as he hissed lowly, right into Yami's ear. "I am not _interested in him._ He's a bastard, and I want to know why. That's perfectly acceptable when I have to fucking _live with him."_

Yami had shot him a disbelieving look. "If you hated him that much, you'd have moved out by now."

"What the fuck do you think I've been trying to do?" Marik crossed his arms, abandoning his own meagre notes in favour of glaring at his pale neighbour. "The only thing I've done since getting here is try and move out!"

Yami shook his head. "Well, if you've legitimately tried as hard as you said, and you're still stuck with him, maybe you should try and be a bit more understanding. If you want to know so much about him, then just ask him yourself."

Marik bit back the obvious retort – that Bakura would most likely stab him if he tried something like that – as the lecture ended and it was time to escape. He was out of his seat in moments, notebook shoved back in his bag, but Yami remained in his seat, effectively blocking Marik's exit. The Egyptian coughed, loudly. "Yami, you're in my way. Move."

Yami didn't even seem to hear him, his gaze fixed as it was somewhere by the door, where all the other students were leaving. Marik kicked the leg of his chair, trying to get his attention, and Yami quickly snapped back round to look at him. "Oh, sorry, Marik. Am I in your way?"

Marik merely rolled his eyes in response, sighing impatiently as he waited for Yami to gather his stuff together. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough, as a light-hearted voice sounded from somewhere above them. "Oh, hello! You're Yami, right? I've seen you around, been meaning to talk to you!"

Yami visibly stiffened, his back ramrod straight as he slowly turned to face the girl now addressing him. Marik watched with barely-concealed amusement as his face turned a little pink; the girl was nothing special, short brown hair and wide blue eyes, but Yami seemed pretty interested. Marik held back a snicker at his next words. "Oh, hello, um ... Tea, isn't it?"

The brunette nodded, a smile lighting her features. Her face instantly seemed easier on the eye when a smile danced around her mouth. "Yep, that's me. It's nice to finally meet you – I think you live in my block?"

"You're in the flat above me." Yami's voice was quiet, but it thrummed with a sincerity that Marik hadn't heard before.

The girl called Tea laughed a little. "Oh, really? I didn't know that! You're going to have to come up sometime, my flatmates are all really lovely, it would be great to get to know you!"

Yami stuttered out some form of assent and Tea laughed, waving cheerily over one shoulder as she continued on her way to the exit. Yami stared after her for a long moment, his cheeks fading back to pale when she was out of sight. Marik released a low chuckle when she was gone. "Guess you've been watching her for a while then, hm?"

Yami jumped, turning with surprise to see Marik grinning at him. "N-no! I just ... I've, seen her around, that's all. She does live in the same block."

"Suuure." Marik stretched out the syllable with a small shake of his head. "Anyway, will you get out of my way now? I would like to get back to my flat."

Yami obediently gathered the rest of his things and headed out of the row, falling into step beside Marik as they headed out of the building. "Remember, talk to Bakura. If you have to live with him, you may as well find a way to get along."

"I won't be with him for long," Marik promised, his voice dripping. "I'm getting the fuck out of there once the accommodation officer finally gets his act together and finds me a new flat."

Yami merely sent him a small smile before turning and heading to his own building. Marik watched him leave with a sigh before heading back down the slippery pavement; it was raining, _again,_ and Marik was starting to get really fed up of the grey sky and towering buildings. What he'd give to be back in Egypt right now, and not stuck in some crappy flat in a strange city, with a hostile flatmate who quite clearly wanted nothing to do with him. That stung. Not that Marik _wanted_ to be around Bakura, because he hadn't been lying when he told Yami that he wanted out of that flat, but Marik couldn't deny that something about Bakura's presence was intoxicating. Then there was the fact that he was really fucking good at the piano; he practised often, usually late into the night, and Marik would more than likely catch himself lying in his bed with his eyes closed, allowing the delicious sounds to send waves of pleasure through his trembling body. He hadn't been exposed to much music as a child, and certainly nothing like what Bakura could play; Marik's knowledge of music was limited at best, but even he could tell that Bakura was above and beyond average. The only irritating thing was that Bakura knew it too.

Luckily, his pale flatmate was so far mostly unaware of Marik's fixation with his music; more often than not, Marik would fake annoyance with his late-night practises, asking him to shut up when he was trying to sleep. Of course, this only made Bakura more prone to practising later and later; something Marik secretly enjoyed. He would never let on about that, of course. He also found himself filled with curiousity about exactly how Bakura made it sound as good as it did; Marik now knew that his instrument was called a piano, but he still had absolutely no idea what it looked like, or how it would be played. He was afire with curiousity, but asking Bakura straight out was completely out of the question; he would only be ridiculed for his lack of knowledge.

Dragging his thoughts away from the pale idiot he lived with, Marik continued down the street with a disgruntled glare at the still-dripping sky. He was getting seriously fed up of all this water. Once he reached his block he legged it up the stairs to the sixth floor, shaking himself off in the process and trying to flatten his now-wild blonde hair; this was partly why he hated the rain. The flat was silent when he entered, the lights off everywhere but the hall; Bakura must be out somewhere. Marik was about to enter his own room when he noticed Bakura's was ajar, and the light still on – he could catch a glimpse of a bed much like his own, the sheets still ruffled, but there was something big and black stood beside it that was most certainly _not_ in Marik's room.

Before he could think twice, Marik's hand was on the doorknob, pushing the door wide open as he stepped into Bakura's room. It was a lot more cluttered than Marik's; stuff was strewn all over the floor and the desk was piled high with sheets and sheets of music, mostly photocopied illegally by the looks of it. There was a box half-open on the desk, and as Marik stepped forwards a tell-tale glint slid out from under the lid, the sunlight through the open curtains glancing off something that looked suspiciously like precious metal. Marik's fingers itched, and with a quick glance around the room (although by now it was pretty obvious that Bakura was not in the flat), Marik crossed the room in two strides and lifted the lid fully, revealing the box's glowing contents. It was strewn with various, seemingly random, pieces of jewellery, wallets, a few loose coins, even a couple of watches, but what had first caught Marik's eye was the bracelet that was carelessly placed in the centre of the box. It was gold, decorated with emeralds, and it was clearly very expensive. _Huh,_ Marik found himself thinking, his lips pursed. _Either Bakura's been hiding some very rich parents, or he is just as criminal as he appears to be._

Turning away from the desk, Marik's attention was immediately caught and held by the beautiful instrument stood proudly against the wall beside the bed – this, he assumed, was the piano. It was black and upright, the keyboard open and a sheet of music placed open on the stand. It was covered in pencil markings in a tiny scrawl that Marik couldn't decipher at all, try as he might. Before he even realised he was moving, Marik was stood right beside the piano stool, the white and black keys shining temptingly. His fingers itched. Was that how you played it, then? You touched those keys?

Only one way to find out.

Stretching out one hand, fingers perfectly steady, Marik lightly brushed the top of one of those raised black keys. The material - what was that, anyway? It was too smooth to be wood - shifted under his touch, the key moving downwards slowly, but no sound was released; Marik was unable to hold back a frustrated growl at that. He tried again, pressing harder this time, and a note suddenly rang through the room, clear as daylight. Marik jerked his hand back in surprise. _That easy?_ He reached his hand out again, aiming for a different key this time, fingers flexing...

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Shit.

Marik quickly jumped away from the piano, whipping around to meet a furious glare. Brown eyes were leering at him from behind curtains of white hair, pale arms folded and feet planted firmly on the floor; the whole stance exuded confidence. Bakura looked absolute irate. He took a single step forwards into the room, but it was enough to send Marik skittering backwards; sure, he had seen Bakura angry before, but this just took it to a whole new level. Bakura's eyes were narrowed to sharp brown points, his hands clearly clenched into fists, skin stretched taut over his bony knuckles. Marik swallowed.

Bakura took another step forwards, door closing mutely behind him, and Marik found himself trapped in a corner by the desk. The silence reigned between them, roaring in Marik's ears until Bakura finally saw fit to speak again. "I asked you a question, Ishtar. What the hell are you doing?"

"Um..." Marik's voice broke embarrassingly, and he accompanied his rather pathetic vocals with a glare. His throat felt constricted, but he forced the words out regardless. "I'm just looking..."

Within seconds Bakura was in Marik's face. Pale hands grasped the front of his shirt, forcing him backwards; Marik stumbled over one of the many items strewn across Bakura's floor, back hitting the wall painfully as he was bent backwards. Bakura was right in his face, white hair spilling onto tanned cheeks as he was fixed with that burning brown glare. "You," Bakura hissed, "Are never, _ever,_ to come in here and touch my stuff. I don't care what kind of obsession you have, you are _never_ to be in here."

"I don't -!" Marik started, but Bakura just bent him further back; Marik winced as his spine cracked, the noise sending shivers through his skull. _No, not this, I don't want to remember.._. The back of his head connected with a wall, and Marik was suddenly somewhere else, his head screeching with the force of his memories.

_A hazy glow from torches, shadows leaping around the brown stone walls; the corners of the tomb were dark, terrifying places for a child. Trembling knees, shaking hands, a deep, shaky breath that sounded far too loudly in the stale silent corridors. The darkness encroached further as the torches went out, one by one, accompanied by the sound of footsteps growing ever louder. The trembling increased, blonde hair falling into violet eyes, small tanned hands clutching at a white-robed chest, shivering and rocking and shaking for the punishment he knew was coming..._

Bakura growled, the sound feral and deep and _threatening._ "Get out of my room. I ever catch you anywhere _near_ being in here again, you'll find out what it really means to be in pain." Marik gasped as he was roughly flung away, landing on his backside in the middle of Bakura's room.

_Another life, another place, another person, was all he found himself wishing for as his hands were tied down, his feet already pinned to the stone tablet. The torchlight still flickered in the otherwise impenetrable blackness, shadowed forms waving eerily on the walls as the tallest of them all edged forwards. White robes were roughly pulled away, revealing as-yet unblemished tan skin, and he writhed before it had even begun. He didn't want this. It wasn't right. He wanted to be out, not here, anywhere but here, anywhere..._

Marik was still pinned with that ferocious brown stare as he came back to himself with a gasp. He found himself still flat on his back in the middle of Bakura's floor, so he wasted no time in clambering painfully to his feet and edging out of the room, making straight for the kitchen. He collapsed into one of the hard wooden chairs at the table, his eyes squeezing shut and his head dropping into his hands; his back ached, and not entirely because of Bakura. His skull still throbbed. He refused to acknowledge it, turning instead to the small pile of post on the table – most were addressed to Bakura, but there was one letter for him. With a slightly raised eyebrow, Marik slid his thumb under the opening and pulled out the letter.

_To Mr Marik Ishtar,_

_Further to your enquiries, an appointment has been booked with Mr Jacob Wright, the Accommodation Officer, at 16:00 on the 30__th__ September. Both yourself and Mr Touzoku are invited to attend._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Student Living Ltd._

The 30th? That was today, wasn't it? Marik checked the date of the letter and saw it had been sent two days ago; quite possibly it had been sat on the table for the entire time, and he just hadn't noticed it. For the most part, Marik only came in here to get food, so it was probable that he just hadn't noticed the envelope. That, or Bakura could have hidden the letter out of some sadistic reason of his own invention. Marik wouldn't put it past him. Reading the letter again, Marik sighed loudly when he saw that Bakura was expected to attend this meeting as well. He _really_ didn't want to deal with that hormonal pale idiot, but it was already 3:30 and the meeting was in half an hour. However, Marik remained sat at the table for the better part of the next ten minutes, still trying to keep a hold of his temper and put a stop to the random flashbacks that still raged through his skull. Once he felt marginally more in control, Marik rose fluidly and stepped back into the hallway, stopping outside Bakura's room. Everything was silent.

With a low growl, Marik knocked loudly on the door and called, "Don't worry, I'm not coming in, but I need you to come with me. We've got a meeting with the accommodation officer."

There was a short silence before a rough voice ground out, "Go your fucking self. I don't need to be there."

"Believe me," Marik replied, his voice even, "I would much rather do this on my own. But you were invited too, so let's just get a move on. We're going to be late."

There were another few seconds of silence before the door swung open and Bakura strode out, his arms crossed in front of him. He stared cockily at Marik before lifting an eyebrow. "Get a fucking move on then."

Marik merely sighed loudly, turning and leading the way out of the flat. Bakura locked it behind them before heading to the stairs, raising an eyebrow as Marik made for the lift. After staring at each other for a few moments, Marik rolled his eyes, crossing over to Bakura. "Fine. We'll take the stairs. Do you have an actual problem with lifts, or are you just being difficult?"

A dark chuckle escaped Bakura's lips as he started down the stairs, Marik easily keeping pace beside him. "Perhaps I just want to see if you can manage it, Ishtar."

"Please," Marik scoffed. "It's only six flights."

Bakura sent him a sidelong smirk. "That hole you grew up in have more than six flights, hm?"

"Shut. Up." Marik seethed, pushing away another flashback and steadfastly ignoring the chuckling bastard beside him. When they reached reception Marik headed straight for the desk, finding the same woman he had spoken to on the phone. "How do I get to the accommodation officer's room?"

The woman blinked up at him. "Excuse me?"

"The accommodation officer. I need to see him. Now."

"Do you have an appointment?"

Marik sighed loudly as the woman began tapping on the computer keys. "Yes. Just tell me where the hell his office is."

"Well, I just have to make sure he's expecting you..."

There was a growl, and then pale hands were on Marik's shoulders, pushing him out of the way; Marik made sure to send a glare to his pale companion before moving to the side. Bakura merely had to cough slightly, leaning his elbows on the desk, and the receptionist scrambled out of her seat and backed away. Bakura lifted a brow, jerking a thumb towards Marik. "I'm with him. Tell us where to go."

The receptionist shuddered. "O-of course, Mr Touzoku, it's just that way..." She pointed a trembling finger down the corridor. "First door on the right."

Bakura strode away without a second glance, but he stopped when he reached the door. "Ishtar, are you coming or what?"

Marik blinked, shaking himself before following after Bakura. "What did you ever do to her?"

"You probably don't want to know." Bakura sent Marik an amused smirk. "Your poor virgin mind couldn't take it."

"Spare me the bullcrap," Marik scoffed. "Let's just get this over with."

Bakura shrugged, gesturing for Marik to take the lead as they both entered the door the receptionist had pointed out to them.

The meeting with the accommodation officer went about as well as expected; there were no flats available anywhere in the city at the moment, and the best Marik could do was wait until the end of October, which was when a list of all the tenants came out. If there was an available flat then, and Marik still wanted to move out, then provisions could potentially be made.

"'Provisions could potentially be made.' What the fuck does that even mean?" Marik grumbled as he and Bakura entered their kitchen once more. "I mean, either they have a flat or they don't. There's no _potentially_ about it."

"Don't ask me," Bakura chuckled, seating himself on the kitchen table and watching Marik head to his cupboards. "The situation is nothing to do with me."

Marik sent him a disbelieving look, his violet eyes narrowed. "Of course it's to do with you. The way things are now, I have to stick around here for another month. I do _not_ want to live with you for that long."

"Well, there isn't an awful lot you can do about it," Bakura yawned, stretching back in his seat and placing his feet on the table. "Unless you want to try your hand at living on the streets, that is."

Marik scoffed. "As if. Maybe _you_ should try that, though – that way you'll be out of my hair."

"Been there, done that."

"...Excuse me?" Marik put down his frying pan in favour of looking at Bakura, slightly shocked. "You've lived on the streets?"

Bakura sounded bored. "What of it?"

"I just..." Marik shook his head. "Why weren't you with your parents?"

"Why on earth does it matter to you?" Bakura looked faintly amused.

Marik hissed. "Bastard. I was just making conversation, seeing as I'm stuck with you. I still hate you."

"Oh, good," Bakura continued cheerfully. "I hate you too. We'll just have to put up with each other for a while longer."

Marik groaned at that, turning the hob on; the smells of his cooking soon filled the kitchen. "A whole month, in this dump. I'm not even sure I can cope."

"You should be grateful, actually." Bakura sounded amused. "You clearly don't know much about the way things work over here, but this is actually one of the nicest blocks they could put you in."

Marik glared over one shoulder. "Shame about the company, then."

"Now, now, Ishtar, do try and keep this civil," Bakura taunted, heading to the freezer and hunting through for another frozen ready meal. "You have yet to replace my pizza, I see."

Marik rolled his eyes, leaving his meal to simmer and turning his full attention to his pale flatmate. Bakura was hunting through the freezer, but Marik's eyes trailed to the floor beside him, where the soup from the first night should still be stuck to the cheap lino. Marik grinned when he saw that the floor was clean. "By the looks of things, your threats are meaningless, Bakura."

White hair flicked as Bakura sent him a dismissive glance. "Hm?"

"The soup's gone." Marik held back a snicker. "Seems like you don't expect me to follow your orders, so maybe I'll just keep taking your stuff. Doesn't seem to bother you."

A dangerous growl rippled through the air. "Don't try my patience, Ishtar."

"Whatever." Marik turned back to his own food, retrieving a plate from a cupboard. "As if I'd want to eat your food anyway. Can't you cook?"

"This _is_ cooking," Bakura smirked, holding up a pizza. "I put it in the oven, and it heats up. Problem solved."

Marik's nose wrinkled in disgust. "You're not seriously eating that, are you?"

"Like your food's any better."

"It is!" Marik turned away with a shudder. "I nearly choked on the pizza I had the first night I was here."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like I forced it down your throat. I didn't _want_ you to eat my food, idiot."

"At least if you ate my food, you'd be eating something healthy," Marik grouched, serving it up.

Bakura eyed the mess of vegetables with a raised brow. "Looks filthy to me."

"That's because you're clearly uncultured," Marik complained. "I assure you, it's delicious."

"I don't believe you."

"Try it yourself, then!" Before Marik fully realised what he was doing, he had shoved his plate towards Bakura and handed him a fork. "Trust me; it's much better than whatever crap you feed yourself with."

Bakura merely looked at it quizzically, his brows drawn tightly together, forehead creased. "What even is it?"

"Doesn't matter – just eat it."

To Marik's surprise, Bakura actually dug his fork in and took a bite. Marik watched with interest as his brows furrowed, before his eyes widened and he swallowed quickly. He pierced another mouthful onto his fork and chewed, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Marik chuckled. "Told you. Much better than frozen crap, right?"

Bakura shot him a dirty look, swallowing again before responding. "I can't cook from scratch. I'm not left with many options."

"Just admit it; I was right about something."

Bakura smirked. "I have no problem with telling you that this is better than my food. So, I'll be going now." Before Marik could react, Bakura had lifted the plate and turned to leave, heading back to his room. "I think this earns you the job of flat cook, Marik."

"Asshole! That was mine!" Marik called after him, but Bakura had already entered his room. With an angry growl, Marik started the hob up again, running Bakura's parting words through his head. That bastard was beginning to confuse him; one minute he was threatening Marik, and the next he was complimenting him and calling him by his first name. Bakura had never done that before. Marik sighed as he tucked into his own food, trying not to dwell on exactly what this next month would bring; he had barely lived a week with Bakura, and it was already draining his emotions, never mind his back that still ached from their earlier encounter. And just how in the hell had Bakura guessed so accurately about Marik's past? He couldn't really be that observant...

Marik's thoughts trailed back to what he had seen in Bakura's room earlier that day, and he remembered the golden bracelet that had been lying in that trinket-box. _That_ had certainly seemed not to belong to Bakura, although it was obviously worth quite a bit – Marik began to wonder just exactly where he could have got it from. With Bakura's casual mention of a life on the streets, it wouldn't honestly surprise Marik to hear that Bakura had stolen it. Marik made a mental note to keep his bedroom door locked at all times from now on; it would be just like that insufferable bastard to forbid Marik from entering his room, but have no qualms about entering Marik's room himself. This month was going to be horrid.

_At least the course is going well,_ Marik found himself thinking as he put his plate in the sink and headed for his room. His notepad lay open on the desk, a few colours beside it from a picture he'd been working on earlier that week. His course, as Yami had told him, was Art History and not Art, so he didn't strictly _have_ to draw for it, but Marik found the simple act of pressing paper to pencil rather refreshing. He took a seat and began to absentmindedly shade his sketches, watching the trail of black across the page and allowing his mind to wander. As a child, in Egypt, he often dreamed of living a life like this – outside, in the open air, and free to do as he pleased. Of course, he hadn't exactly imagined living in such a dreary country, or being forced to spend time with such a disagreeable person, but all in all life wasn't so bad. _I should probably call Ishizu and Odion soon,_ Marik thought a little guiltily. _I promised to keep in touch. They don't even know if I arrived safely, thinking about it._ Marik sighed, continuing with his sketching in order to quieten his tired mind.

After a few moments, the silvery droplets of music began to dribble through the air from Bakura's room, and Marik tilted his head to listen, his pencil coming to a stop. Before long there was a smile at his lips, his head feeling truly calm for the first time that day.

Perhaps this month wouldn't be so bad, after all.

**The pace picks up next chapter, so that's good. XD Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. See you next Thursday! - Jem**


	4. Chapter 4

**It's Thursday, and here is your update! It's pretty fluffy. ^_^ Yami Marik is called 'Kek' in pretty much all of my stories. Miss Macabre Grey came up with it (Love you, GreyGrey!). So, when I say Kek, I mean Yami Marik. Got it? Good. XD Hope you enjoy this update! - Jem**

_Darkness, and running, and always that pain in his back that made it feel like his skin was being ripped off. Marik was fleeing. He knew what was going to happen because it happened every time, and there was no way that he could escape it – this was too familiar a situation, something he knew far too well to hold out any hope that this time, it would be different. Things were never different down here. The darkness was vast and unending, the occasional torch flitting by on the wall the only sense that he was moving, except for the burning in his chest and the pounding of his heart. He was running with everything he had, but he knew it would never be enough. He was coming._

_Marik's footsteps echoed down the corridors, the soles of his sandals slapping against the stone as he tore through the encroaching shadows. He was running blind, with no real idea of how to get out to the surface; Kek had always taken him this way, but Marik never paid full attention then, his mind too fixed on exactly what they would do when they reached the surface. The corridors all looked identical, all paved with stone and lined with torches, joining together in an incomprehensible pattern to make a troubled underground maze. Still Marik ran, although he knew it was fruitless. He knew he still had to try._

_Heavy footsteps sounded behind him soon enough, letting him know that he was trapped. Marik could still feel it, though – that mindless terror that rocketed through his skull, rendering his limbs immobile and causing his heart to freeze mid-beat. He knew what would happen once those footsteps caught him. With a wrench, Marik forced himself to move again, tearing through the corridors at his fastest pace yet as he fled the man following him. He soon met a dead end, as he always knew he would, and the footsteps were getting closer. In a frenzied act of desperation, Marik turned to the walls, his nails digging in to the rough surface as he tried to climb, certain in the knowledge that he had to get away before he was caught, before he was trapped..._

_Rough hands brought him crashing back to the sandy floor, and Marik was screaming, screaming and screaming as he was dragged away, and he knew that there would be no help, no one would hear him from this far below the surface..._

Marik sat straight up in bed, his eyes flying open and his hair sticking to his forehead, the sheets a tangled mess around his feet. It had been a long time since he'd had _that _dream. He had hoped, vainly, probably, that once he was out of the tomb and living in the open air his sleep would be undisturbed. Apparently, life had other ideas. Too used to the sensations by now to truly be bothered by them, Marik disentangled himself from the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His eyes felt gritty, his head stuffed, and as he tried to stand the room spun about him. Crashing back onto the bed, Marik let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering closed of their own accord as he collapsed onto his back, his hair falling into his eyes, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He grimaced and wriggled, one hand on his forehead as he attempted to stand again; the world still swayed, but it steadied much faster this time, and Marik was able to drag on yesterday's clothes and head out to the kitchen, in desperate need of some coffee.

Once the steaming mug was in his hand and he had taken a couple of sips, his head felt marginally clearer. An alarm buzzed on his phone and he pulled it out of his pocket, taking a quick glance at the screen – it was a reminder he had set himself, promising to ring his siblings to let them know he hadn't died. Marik sighed loudly. It was a Saturday, his first weekend here; he had almost survived his first week. His siblings would be worried about him.

Downing the rest of his coffee, Marik settled a bit more comfortably into his seat before scrolling through his contacts. The phone barely made it through its first ring before it was snatched up, and a deep male voice responded, "Hello?"

_Well, at least it's Odion._ "It's me," Marik spoke, tone resigned.

"Marik!" Odion's tone instantly lightened. "Good to hear from you." _Yeah, right._ "How is England?"

Marik let out a slight laugh. "Wet. And grey. And cold."

"Sounds delightful." Odion chuckled. "How are you settling in?"

Marik shrugged before realising that his brother couldn't see him. "As well as can be expected."

"You haven't had any trouble, though?" Odion's tone became a little more insistent. "No one's asked where you're from?"

Marik snorted. "Of course people ask where I'm from. I just tell them Egypt; I don't need to go into detail."

"So no one suspects? Are you safe?"

Marik rolled his eyes, stiffening a little at the sound of a door opening down the corridor. Sure enough, the kitchen door soon swung open to reveal Bakura, who merely shot him a glare before going to the kettle. Marik sighed, twisting away from him.

"Marik?" Odion again. "Are you safe?"

"Yes, I'm safe," Marik grumbled down the phone, ignoring the questioning look he received from his grumpy roommate. "Quit worrying about me."

Odion's smile was in his tone. "I'm just looking out for you. Things have pretty much blown over here, although Ishizu still has the occasional question from work. She manages to put everyone off easily enough."

Marik grunted noncommittally, allowing Odion to continue. "Keep in touch, and let us know how you are. Remember, tell no one anything about your previous life. Just act as normal as possible."

"Oh yeah, sure, I was just going to walk around with a huge sign saying 'Egyptian deprived freak' all the time," Marik responded sarcastically.

"Just stay safe."

"For the last time, I _am_ safe," Marik hissed. "The only danger I had was in Egypt. He's long gone now."

There was a small silence before Odion spoke again. "I cannot deny that. I'll let Ishizu know you called. Keep in touch, Marik."

Another grunt was all Odion got before Marik hung up the phone, sighing loudly as he dropped it back into his pocket. His head was pounding. Marik massaged his forehead with his palms, attempting to cool down the heat he felt there and sniffing loudly, twice. His throat felt parched, so he got up and headed to the sink, pouring himself a glass of water.

"Someone looks ill."

Marik jumped, having almost completely forgotten about Bakura's presence. The pale student was regarding him with sharp brown eyes, his arms folded as he waited for the kettle to boil. Marik ignored him, proceeding to take a long draft of his water before replying. "I'm not ill. I have a headache."

Bakura merely snorted before gesturing to a cupboard. "Paracetamol in there. Knock yourself out."

"I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about." Marik's head hurt too much for this. He turned, meaning to go back to his room, but a tug on his shoulder made him whirl back around.

Bakura was suddenly right in front of him, small box in hand. "Paracetamol. I'm guessing you didn't have them in that dark hole in Egypt."

"Shut _up_ about that," Marik growled. "And what the hell are you trying to give me?"

Bakura rolled his eyes, popping out two white pills and holding them out to Marik. "They're painkillers. They help with headaches."

Marik lifted a brow. "Knowing you, you're probably trying to poison me, or something."

"Suit yourself," Bakura shrugged, tossing the pills and box onto the counter. "Read the label if you're that worried. I forgot that you've probably never seen a tablet before. Was that hole in the middle of the desert, by any chance?"

Marik hissed through his teeth. "I told you to _shut the hell up_ about that!"

Bakura merely snickered.

Marik muttered under his breath, turning inquisitively to the box and reading through the label. Turned out Bakura was right – the tablets were painkillers. They _looked_ safe, and the seal hadn't been broken, so in the end Marik just took them, swallowing with a grimace. He frowned when his head felt no better.

"They take twenty minutes to work," Bakura advised, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone. "You are so clueless, it's a wonder you've survived above ground for this long."

Marik snarled at him, but Bakura continued, unfazed. "What the hell happened in Egypt, anyway? That was a family member you were on the phone too. Why were they telling you to stay safe? What are you running away from?"

"None of your damn business," Marik growled, turning to stalk back to his room. "Leave me the hell alone, bastard."

Bakura smirked. "I'll find out one way or another. Probably easier if you just tell me, though – it would save you a lot of time."

Marik stopped short at his words, several foreign expressions crossing his face. When he turned back around, his face was impassive, almost cold. His tone, when he spoke, was even and gave nothing away. "I killed a man."

Despite himself, Bakura's eyebrows went up. Marik watched him silently for a few moments longer before turning and leaving the kitchen, only half-surprised when he heard footsteps following him, all the way into his room. Marik collapsed back onto the bed with his eyes sliding shut, groaning when he heard his desk chair squeak. "Who said you could come in here?"

"It's my flat," Bakura pointed out coolly. "I'll go where I please."

Marik opened one eye just long enough to send him a glare. "So when I go in your room, you freak out, but I'm just supposed to accept the fact that you'll walk in here whenever you feel like it?"

"I'm glad you understand the situation."

Marik could hear Bakura's smirk, and he sat up with a glare. "You are really fucking irritating, you know that?"

Bakura grinned, an amused tint to his eyes. "I'm aware. So, what kind of murder are we dealing with here? Who did you kill?"

"You've got to be kidding me," Marik snarled. "I am not talking about this."

"If I'm living with a homicidal maniac, I have a right to know." Bakura was still smirking.

Marik glared, flopping back down on the bed and rolling away from Bakura. "You don't have a right to know anything about me."

"Whatever, Ishtar."

Marik kept his eyes closed, hoping that if he feigned sleep for long enough the white-haired would just get bored and go away. A rustling from behind him told Marik just how wrong he was about that, especially when that dark voice, now laced with amusement, spoke up again. "Just what are these?"

Marik groaned, rolling back over. "What are what?"

Bakura lifted up a wad of papers, smirk back in place. "These."

Marik cracked open his eyes, shooting upright when he saw what Bakura was holding. "Asshole! Give me those back!"

"Or what?" Bakura grinned, spinning away from Marik and laying out the pictures on the desk. He took in the childish images, filled with bright colours and wide smiling faces, and lifted a brow. "An artist, are you?"

Marik was off the bed and snatching the papers up and out of sight in an instant, shoving them quickly back under his bed. "Don't touch my stuff, bastard."

"You know, some of that wasn't half bad," Bakura commented sagely. "Rather childish, though. Says a lot about you."

Marik growled. "I did that stuff years ago. Of course it's childish. Get the hell out of my room."

"Consider it payback for you being in mine yesterday."

"I think you nearly snapping my spine was payback enough," Marik grouched, hand absentmindedly reaching back to stroke his scars. "And at least I wasn't stalking you."

Bakura lifted a brow. "You were freaking out over my piano. Never mind the way you were practically in a trance the first time you heard it. That is far worse than stalking."

"Not my fault I'd never heard it before," Marik muttered. "I just wanted to know what it looked like."

Bakura rolled his eyes, leaning back in Marik's seat and putting his feet up on Marik's desk. "You must have seen one before. They have pianos in Egypt, you know."

"Not where I was," Marik muttered. "And dad would never have let me see them, anyway."

Bakura fixed him with a look and Marik stared back a little defensively; he hadn't really meant to reveal so much. Bakura spoke again, his tone and face impassive. "Your dad not let you out much, hm?"

"I'm not going to talk about it," Marik hissed. "Shut the hell up."

Bakura shrugged, keeping his keen gaze trained on Marik, who shifted uncomfortably. They were silent for a long moment, both trying to read the other, before Bakura rose to his feet and gestured imperiously. "Come."

"...Excuse me?"

Bakura tossed an enigmatic look over one shoulder, beckoning once more. "Come."

Slightly surprised and extremely curious, Marik followed Bakura out into the hallways and down the passage until they were stood outside of Bakura's room. He pushed the door open and entered, beckoning Marik over to the piano. "If you wanted to know how it works, you should have just asked, idiot."

"Forgive me for not exactly wanting to come back in here after you almost broke my back," Marik grumbled, but he still stepped towards Bakura, his curiousity getting the better of him. The white-haired student had settled onto the piano stool, his hands naturally falling over the keys. He rolled his eyes at Marik's hesitance.

"Just get over here. Don't touch anything, though. I don't need you breaking it."

Marik edged closer gingerly until Bakura got bored and grabbed his arm, pulling him unceremoniously down onto the piano stool beside him. Marik let out a yelp, rubbing his arm and glaring at Bakura.

"Much better." Bakura flashed him a smirk before turning back to the piano, his hands stroking the keys gently. A small tinkle of sounds rippled beneath his fingers, and Marik watched, fascinated, as he picked out a simple melody accompanied by basic chords. He didn't notice himself leaning closer until a chuckle rasped in his ear, and that low, commanding voice commented, "You might want to lean back a bit. I can't play with you lying all over me like that."

Marik drew back quickly, steadfastly ignoring Bakura's dancing eyes in favour of staring at the piano some more. "So, you just press the keys and notes come out?"

"That's the general idea," Bakura drawled, his fingers still picking out the melody. "God, I forget how much of an innocent you are half the time. How do you even function in society?"

Marik ignored the insult, his eyes still glued to the piano keys. "Seems rather easy to me."

Bakura sent him a glare. "Oh really."

"Yeah," Marik shrugged. "You just hit the keys in different patterns, right? Easy. Even a little bit boring."

Bakura's only response was to suddenly increase the tempo of the music, his hands flying over the keys in a mess of semiquavers and dotted rhythms as he embellished the once-simple melody, making it sound about a thousand times more complex. Of course, he still never missed a note. Marik felt a tiny flare of jealousy rise in his chest, his fingers itching to stroke the keys for himself. He stretched out one hand...

A slap rang through the room. "Don't," Bakura snarled, the music coming to an abrupt halt. "Don't touch, Ishtar, ever. I mean it."

Marik glared right back at him, the slap an unpleasant echo to his life back in Egypt. His back tingled.

Bakura continued to pin him with a dark frown until a knock at the door had them both moving, jumping out of the piano stool and away from each other.

Bakura grunted, looking away. "You can get that."

"It's your flat," Marik hissed. "You answer it."

Bakura sighed loudly. "I'm not answering. Go get the door, idiot."

"Bastard," Marik seethed, but he stalked out of the room and went to answer the door, ignoring Bakura's dark chuckles that sounded from behind him. He pulled the flat door open, rubbing his head where the headache was now fading, and grumbled out, "What?"

A badge was shoved into his face, and a stern voice said, "DI Wilson and Officer Wright, police. Can we come in?"

Marik started, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the two uniformed police officers standing at his door. Why on earth would the police want to come here? They couldn't have traced him from Egypt, surely ... There was no way they could know what he'd done...

A dark voice sounded from further down the corridor. "Get out of the way, idiot."

Marik jumped, moving quickly away from the police officers. Bakura sent him a disparaging look before gesturing to the officers, folding his arms in front of him in his typically arrogant stance. "What the hell do you want?"

"Now, Mr Touzoku," The DI responded calmly. "No trouble. We're investigating the disappearance of a prized collection of jewellery. Tell me, have you seen this bracelet anywhere?"

Bakura barely gave the photo a glance before snorting, "No, I haven't. You can go now."

"Not just yet." The Officer turned to Marik, holding out the photo. "Take a look at this. What's your name?"

Marik stared at him sullenly, reaching out a hand to take the photo; he had to forcibly stop his eyes from widening when he recognised it. It was the bracelet, the one he'd seen in Bakura's room! He looked up, attempting to stop his jaw from dropping, to see Bakura send him a dangerous glare over one shoulder before turning back to the intruders. The officer in front of Marik raised a brow, his notepad open in front of him. "Your name, sir?"

Marik jumped, turning back to him and forcing his tone to remain even. "Namu ... Karim. And I haven't seen this bracelet before in my life."

The officer made a note, shooting him a keen glance before turning back to Bakura. "Sure you haven't seen it?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure."

"It is a prized piece from the museum," The DI continued, her tone unimpressed. "If you know of its whereabouts, you must tell us. Mind if we have a look in your room?"

Marik schooled his expression in order to keep it impassive, although his thoughts were reeling. Bakura stole some jewellery from a museum? How in the hell did he get past security? Unless he was just working for someone else, which seemed far more likely...

"Like hell," Bakura scoffed. "Do you have a search warrant?"

Silence.

Bakura smirked. "In that case, get the hell out of my flat. Come back when you actually have some evidence." Without a backwards glance, Bakura turned and stalked into the kitchen, the door slamming shut behind him.

The DI raised her eyes to the heavens. "That boy, I swear..." She turned to Marik with a sympathetic glance. "If you want some advice, get out of this flat. Touzoku is trouble. And you see any sign of that bracelet, give us a call." A card was pressed into Marik's hands before the two officers finally left the flat.

Marik stared after them, dumbfounded. They hadn't come here for him ... he was safe. The panic died in his throat as Marik sagged against the wall, his breathing ragged as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. That had been far too close for comfort.

"So, why did you lie, Ishtar?"

Marik breathed out, sending a dirty look Bakura's way. "Not for you, that's for sure. I can't have the police here. And who stole that bracelet for you?"

"_I_ stole it, moron," Bakura smirked, heading for his room. "I'm sure I don't need to remind you not to tell anyone, or I'll murder you in your sleep."

Marik hissed. "No way you stole it from the museum."

"I'm a good thief," Bakura shrugged dismissively. "And if you tell the police, I'll tell them that you lied about your name and killed someone in Egypt."

Marik stopped short and Bakura entered his room, door shutting behind him. Marik stared after him, fear twisting in his gut; no way would Bakura hand him in. Marik wouldn't let him. Marik _couldn't_ let him, because no way was he going back to Egypt, not when had worked so hard to escape.

Without thinking, Marik shoved the door open and strode into Bakura's room, hands on his hips as he glared at the pale, white-haired idiot, who was sat back at the piano sending him a mildly surprised look. Marik strode right up to him, invading his personal space. "Listen, you. You are not to tell the police anything about me, because if you so much as _try_ then I'll march right round there and show them all your stolen jewellery. I saw your box of trinkets, _thief_."

Bakura growled. "I won't hesitate to tell them about your past in Egypt, Ishtar."

"The way I see it," Marik hissed, "We need to come sort of agreement. Promise me that we won't have any more police sniffing around in this flat, and I won't tell them about what you've stolen. Agreed?"

Bakura scoffed. "Like hell. You won't tell them because if you do, I'll tell them about you."

"Slight problem with that." Marik strove to keep his voice even as he glared at Bakura. "You have no evidence. No one in Egypt knows where I am. It's impossible to trace that crime back to me." _I hope. _"You, on the other hand, have incriminating evidence right here in your room. You need to get your act together, because quite clearly neither of us wants police sniffing around this flat. Get better at being a criminal if you want to survive."

Bakura snarled, standing up from the piano stool and leaning threateningly over Marik, so close they were almost touching. "Don't you dare presume to tell me what to do, _Ishtar."_

"Way I see it, you're in my debt," Marik forced an arrogant smirk onto his lips, knowing that it would drive Bakura wild. "You owe me. _Touzoku."_

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment, the air heavy with tension and sparks almost flying between them. Bakura opened his mouth, snarling, "I don't owe y-"

He was interrupted by a sudden, incessant ringing. Marik cursed and stepped away, his hand dipping into his pocket. Odion. With an eye-roll, Marik turned away from Bakura and went back into his own room, sitting on the desk chair as he answered the call. "Odion, what the hell? I haven't died since I called this morning, you know."

"It's Ishizu actually, Marik, and you could be a little more grateful," His sister's voice sounded down the line, crackly from bad reception. "I'm calling because I've got some unfortunate news. Turns out you're not the only idiot in the family."

Marik hissed, but Ishizu ignored him. "Kek's got into trouble. He needs to get out of Egypt, so we're sending him over to stay with you; he'll be at the harbour on Monday morning, I'll text you the details. Put him up for a bit, hopefully when things calm down he'll be able to come back, unlike you."

"Wait, slow down." Marik's head was reeling, his thoughts a scrambled mess. "Kek? Why? What's he done?"

"I'll let him explain when he gets there," Ishizu continued with a sigh. "He just needs a place to lay low for a while. He'll be safest with you."

"But he doesn't know!" Marik almost shrieked. "He doesn't know about dad! What the hell do I tell him?"

Ishizu had already hung up.

Marik threw the phone across his room, his anger enough to cause a dent in the wall as the phone slid down to the floor, landing with a dull thump. Marik buried his head in his hands, his elbows digging into the flimsy wood of the desk as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. He was still losing his temper far too quickly, but this was serious, very serious. Kek couldn't come here. Kek couldn't stay here. Kek didn't know...

"Well, someone sounds angry."

Marik turned with a snarl, throwing the thing closest to hand at the shadow in the doorway. A pale hand snapped out and caught it, and Bakura lifted an amused brow. "Pencil sharpener. Imaginative."

"Get the hell out," Marik growled, his head falling back into his hands.

Of course, Bakura ignored him. Marik heard the bed shift and groaned. "What the fuck do you want?"

Bakura was silent, and so Marik whirled to face him. He growled when he saw his phone in Bakura's hands. "Give that back."

"In a moment." Bakura met Marik's gaze, his brown eyes impassive. "Who is Kek?"

Marik's jaw dropped. "Were you eavesdropping, you bastard?"

"Besides the point," Bakura waved him away. "If he's staying here, I need to know."

"He isn't staying here," Marik spat, turning away again. No way could he let Kek in, especially not with Bakura here. "I'm not letting him."

"Didn't sound like you had much choice to me." There was amusement in Bakura's tone.

Marik span back around, anger sending him flying off the chair. "Shut the fuck up! You don't know the first thing about this!"

"So tell me." Bakura's voice was dark and commanding. "Why are you freaking out so much?"

"Because Kek doesn't know!" Marik's hands fisted in his hair as he stared wildly at Bakura, words tumbling out of his mouth before he'd thought them through. "Kek doesn't know why I'm here, or what I did, or what happened, he doesn't know _any _of it! What the hell do I do? What do I do?!"

"Slow down." Bakura stood up, grabbing Marik's arms and pulling them down to his sides; Marik flinched at the contact, struggling, but Bakura held him fast. "Start at the beginning. What doesn't Kek know?"

"He doesn't know that I killed my dad!" Marik wailed, words out before he'd realised what he said. Bakura remained still as he continued talking, his grip tight on Marik's arms. "He just thinks dad had a heart attack, he doesn't know what I did or why I'm in England, when he asks me I'm not going to be able to lie to him because he always knows! What the hell am I going to do?"

Bakura remained silent, his eyes analysing Marik's expression. "Calm down, Marik. You need to tell me everything."

His words brought Marik somewhat back to his senses, and he gasped as he realised what he had just revealed. With a violent jerk, Marik pulled himself out of Bakura's grip and stepped back. "Like hell I do," He hissed. "You forget what I just told you. Don't ever speak of it again."

Bakura shook his head, stepping forwards. Marik skittered back. "Get the hell out of my room!"

"No fucking way," Bakura hissed. "Why did you kill your dad?"

"Get OUT!"

"Marik!" Bakura grabbed the fist that was aimed at him, forcibly turning him and shoving him towards the bed; Marik tripped over his open suitcase and landed on his back, hissing as pain exploded along his marred skin. Bakura stood over him threateningly, blocking the door. "I am not letting you out of here until you tell me everything. Why did you kill your dad?"

"Because he did this!" Marik all but screamed. In seconds, before he could think, Marik flung himself upright and pulled his shirt off, turning around and baring his back to Bakura. He was trembling, his mind filled with a confused haze of emotions and thoughts; Kek coming here threw everything out of balance. He was at a total loss of what to do. And now his secret was out.

Silence weighed heavily through the room as Marik shook and shivered, waiting for Bakura's reaction. He almost expected a snicker, a snide remark, or for him to just walk out of the room and leave Marik there. What he _didn't_ expect was the dark voice to sound, with anger apparent in its tone. "Your father did this?"

"W-when I was ten." Marik cursed the stutter, his chin snapping up. He wouldn't show weakness in front of Bakura. He refused.

Bakura was quiet for another moment before he spoke again. His words dripped with controlled fury. "If I have this right, your dad locked you up in a hole in Egypt and tattooed shapes into your back?"

"Hieroglyphs," Marik corrected casually, although he still shook. "And they're scars, not tattoos."

Bakura fell silent again, and Marik trembled. He almost screamed when he felt a cool touch on his back, and his head whipped around to glare at Bakura.

The pale one ignored him, continuing to trace his fingers lightly over the scar tissue. "A knife did these," He eventually said. "A hot knife, if I'm correct."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," Marik spat. "Get your filthy hands off me."

"Hush." Bakura continued to brush over the patterns, causing shivers to ripple down Marik's spine. No one had ever touched them before. "Tell me about Kek."

Marik let a huff of air hiss through his teeth before speaking. "He's my cousin. He doesn't know what dad did, and he doesn't know what I did. If he comes here asking questions I don't know what I'm going to say. I can't tell him."

"Why not?"

Marik sent Bakura a shocked glare, trying to wriggle out of his grasp; Bakura held him steady. "What do you mean, why not? Why the fuck do you think?"

"If you tell your cousin the truth," Bakura continued calmly, "Then he'll understand and you won't have to hide anything anymore. Unless he's the sort of person who has an aversion to crime, in which case we both need him out of this flat."

Marik snorted at that. "Trust me, he has absolutely no issue with crime. But he's still going to flip. I can't tell him. I can't even _face_ him. How the hell am I meant to talk to him on Monday?"

Silence held for another long moment before Bakura eventually growled, "I'll go with you. We can all sort this mess out at the same time."

Marik nearly fell over in shock. The fingers along his scars paused momentarily before resuming their surprisingly gentle movements, and Marik found his shivers slowly stopping the further Bakura went. Why the hell was he being so understanding about this? How could he go from absolute asshole to understanding friend in a matter of minutes?

...Friend?

No, Marik had not just thought that. With a snarl he ripped out of Bakura's grip, whirling around to face him and crossing his arms self-consciously. "Why do you want to help?"

Bakura rolled his eyes. "This quite clearly concerns me, too. I don't want some random stranger causing trouble in this flat. We'll go together on Monday to get him, and that will be an end to it. Turn around and let me finish tracing those scars."

"Like hell," Marik hissed, backing further away.

Bakura snorted, his eyes taking on a cunning glint. "If you let me finish touching them, I'll let you touch my piano."

"No fucking ... wait, what?" Marik tilted his head, a frown creasing his brow. "For real?"

Bakura merely nodded, gesturing imperiously. "Turn around."

"...On one condition," Marik smirked. "You have to show me how to play it."

"Fine," Bakura snapped. "Now turn the fuck around."

With a shudder, Marik turned, jerking when he felt fingers on his back once more. "Calm down," Bakura muttered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't know why you're being so nice about this," Marik growled, trying his best not to flinch as Bakura traced the last pattern.

By way of response, Bakura placed his hands on Marik's shoulders and whirled him around, meeting his eyes with an unreadable expression on his face. When he spoke, it was with an intensity that Marik had never heard him use before. "Parents shouldn't scar their own children."

Marik stared back, his expression dimming, before Bakura turned and beckoned. "Come on. I'll keep up my end of the deal now."

Despite himself, Marik felt a small coil of excitement jump in his stomach as he tugged his shirt back on. He followed Bakura back into his room and took a seat at the piano, watching as Bakura's fingers fell so naturally into place. Bakura didn't look at him as he began to speak. "So, you've probably guessed by now that each key sounds a different note. I press the keys, and a tune comes out."

Marik nodded, watching as Bakura's fingers picked out different keys, causing a rippling melody to sound through the air. "Can I try?"

Bakura sent him a glare, and Marik huffed. "You said I could touch it."

"That doesn't mean play," Bakura muttered, but he reluctantly moved his hands away. "Go on then. You try."

Marik eagerly pressed his fingers into the keys; Bakura flinched at the crash of dissonance that resulted. "Be careful, Marik. Do it like this." Suddenly, pale hands were on Marik's bronze fingers, placing them on separate notes. Fingers wrapped around his wrists, adjusting them slightly and causing Marik's flesh to tingle in their wake. Bakura kept his hands over Marik's as he pushed down, and a sudden bright chord rang through the room. Bakura smirked. "And that's C Major. Congratulations."

Marik felt a smile rise unbidden to his lips, and he pressed down again. Bakura watched him with an impassive expression, trying to ignore the small flutter in his stomach which he knew was a very, very bad sign. But then Marik smiled, his face lighting up and his violet eyes dancing, and Bakura found his eyes sliding to Marik's back, to the scars he had so recently discovered, those beautiful, dangerous scars that so marred the perfect bronze skin. His heart skipped.

This was not good. This was not good at all.

**So, that was quite a fluffy chapter. Sorry if Bakura was a bit OOC, when his back story is explained his motives will be revealed. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, so I'm an hour late, but it's still Thursday in some parts of the world... ^_^ This update is mostly plot, but it's fun. At least, I hope it is. I had fun writing it, anyway. Thanks to everyone who is reading/reviewing/following/PMing me, it honestly really helps to know people are enjoying this story. Whilst I have your attention, you should all go and check out the work of FanGirl16, especially her thiefshipping story 'Love of Another Kind' - she is an awesome writer, and she always helps me stay motivated when I'm writing! I blame the lateness of this update on the fact that she was away for a few days this week, and therefore unable to help me. :P**

**To guest reviewer Saki: Thanks so much for both your reviews! You are wonderfully lovely XD I realised that I never replied to your first one, sorry. ^_^ I am so pleased you like this fic, I am having a lot of fun writing it. I hope you like this chapter!**

**Now I shall shut up and let you read. XD - Jem**

Monday morning rolled around far too quickly for Marik's liking. His nerves had kept him up almost the whole night, and when he had managed to force his eyes shut long enough to sleep it was fitful at best, broken with eerie images of his father, the tomb, and his life back in Egypt. Kek's imminent arrival was foremost on Marik's mind, and it allowed memories to resurface that, in all honesty, Marik would much rather remained deeply buried.

When dawn finally broke, heralded more by the beginnings of traffic than a chorus of birdsong, Marik finally rolled out of bed and headed blearily for the shower. The warm water helped to soothe his aching muscles, his scars tingling slightly where the droplets hit the damaged skin, but he ignored it as always in favour of washing his hair. The long blonde spikes stuck up from his head as he left the water, his reflection almost making him laugh – he looked like Kek, and that was the last person he wanted to be thinking of today. Throwing on his clothes haphazardly, Marik was soon drinking coffee in the kitchen, nails digging into the cracked plastic of the table. Kek was arriving at 10, according to Ishizu's text, and Marik knew he needed to be awake and in full control of his mental capacities to even stand a _chance_ of having a civil conversation with his cousin.

Sunlight dribbled through the thin plastic blinds at the window, causing slats of yellow to cover the kitchen and leaving shadows swirling in their wake. Marik stared fixedly into his empty coffee cup, his eyes faraway. This was how Bakura found him when the pale student finally paced into the kitchen, lifting an eyebrow at Marik's obviously distracted expression and coming to sit down opposite him. "What the hell has got into you?"

Marik visibly jumped, the mug dropping from his hands to clatter onto the table as he stared up into Bakura's laughing gaze. Slightly irritated, Marik allowed his features to drop into a glare as he snapped, "What do you think?"

Bakura shrugged, leaning back. "I would presume it's your cousin, but honestly, I don't see what you're so worried about. All we have to do is tell him to get lost; problem solved."

Marik actually managed to release a small laugh at that, his head dropping forwards, blonde bangs hiding his expression. "You clearly don't know my cousin."

"So?" Bakura stood fluidly, heading to the cupboards to pour himself a bowl of cereal.

"_So,_" Marik repeated sarcastically, "You don't have any concept of just how much could go badly wrong today. Kek is going to flip when he finds out about ... about what happened..."

Bakura scoffed loudly. "Please. By the sounds of it, he should be thrilled that you killed your dad."

"_Shut up!_" Marik hissed, jumping up from the table with his fists balled at his sides. "Don't talk about anything to do with that, ever! I don't even know why I told you!"

"I'd have worked it out whether you told me or not," Bakura responded sagely, taking a seat at the table and paying no mind to Marik's obviously agitated state. "You don't exactly hide it very well."

Marik turned away with a frustrated growl, his hands going to his forehead and his eyes squeezing shut. "That's beside the point. Don't go prying into my life."

"I'm still coming with you today," Bakura ordered. "I can't have some crazy cousin of yours taking over my flat."

Marik groaned, his forehead creasing. "He won't be _taking over._ The whole point of this is to get him to go somewhere else."

"Well then, I foresee no problem." Bakura flashed Marik a feral grin before he rose, shoving his bowl unceremoniously in the sink and turning to the door. "Where are we meeting him?"

Marik shot Bakura a dark, dark glare, just to be sure that the other knew how irritated he was at this whole situation, before muttering, "The station. Follow me."

...

Marik's heart dropped right into his stomach when the first thing he saw at the station was a head of spiky, blonde, unmistakeable hair. It was Kek – there was no denying that tan skin, a slightly darker shade than Marik's own, and those dark purple eyes that were scanning the crowd, mouth twisted into what might have been humour, had Marik not known his cousin better. Finding himself suddenly frozen to the pavement, Marik's head reeled as he was hit by a thousand images from his childhood.

_Laughing in the sun, chasing Odion as he tried to tag him; Marik had been 'it' for ages now..._

_Playing out in the streets, dust flying from their ankles as Marik and Ishizu fled Odion and Kek, knowing that when they were caught they would be tickled into submission, until Marik's sides ached and ached from all his laughter..._

_That one time Marik had found a spiny-tailed lizard, poised perfectly on the sand, its pink tongue slipping out of its mouth once before Kek stamped over and it flicked off back into its burrow..._

_And then, they always had to go home. Hanging on to Ishizu's hand tightly, keeping strictly to the shadows as they strove not to disturb their father, pretending that they had been studying all this time, and not out playing with Kek..._

Marik dragged himself out of his memories with a gasp, his mind confused for a moment as he looked out at a grey, English city as opposed to the dusty streets of Egypt. Kek had seen him. Marik couldn't hold back a flinch as the huge Egyptian strode over to them, grin lighting up his face the moment he saw his little cousin. "Marik!"

"Hey, Kek," Marik mumbled back, looking down at the floor. This seemed to confuse the taller Egyptian, who grasped Marik's shoulders tightly and drew him back, giving him a quick shake. Marik instantly tried to wriggle away, only causing Kek's fingers to dig further into his shoulders. "Ouch, damn it, Kek! Get off me!"

Kek burst out laughing, his voice a low cackle that rumbled the very air around them. "That's more like how I remember you! Now, get over here and tell me what the hell you're doing in a dump of a city like this?"

Marik, once he had successfully freed himself, tilted his head slightly as he glared up at his cousin. "Since when could you speak English?"

"Since Ishizu forced me," Kek sighed loudly, making his irritation plainly obvious. "Gods, that woman. I know she's your sister and everything, but when did she turn into such a prude?"

To Kek's surprise, Marik merely grimaced at the mention of his sister. "You don't need to tell _me _that."

Kek lifted an eyebrow. "What have you done to piss her off this time?"

"Nothing," Marik responded, the word out of his mouth before he even realised he'd spoken. Kek's eyebrow lifted higher, but Marik shook his head. "Not here. Let's talk somewhere else, um..."

"I know a place." Bakura cut in for the first time, his arms crossed in front of him in his typically arrogant stance. "No one will hear us."

Marik shot him a glare. "This place better be legal."

"Oh, please," A corner of Bakura's mouth pulled up. "I think we both know that you don't care about breaking the law, _Ishtar."_

"Shut. Up." Marik ground out, deliberately turning his back on the still-smirking Bakura in order to fix Kek with a stern glare. "Just follow us, and I'll tell you everything. Got it?"

Kek, eyes now gleaming with unmistakeable curiousity, obediently followed Marik and Bakura, their steps fast and loud on the concrete. Drizzle coated the air, as ever, and it stuck comically in Kek's spiked hair, running down the strands and dripping onto his shoulders in an ever-present haze. Marik balked slightly when he finally saw where Bakura was leading them – a run-down garage in a quiet, empty part of town – but at Bakura's disparaging look, he wisely chose to make no comment.

Kek followed them in with only a shrug, eyes easily adjusting to the darkness after the damp grey of the atmosphere outside. He planted his feet firmly on the cold, concrete floor, his arms folded in front of him and dark eyes narrowed as he stared directly at his cousin. "Right, enough of the mystery tour. Just what is going on, Marik?"

Marik shifted nervously on his feet, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the material of his light jacket, his eyes fixed determinedly on the floor. "It's, um, about ... well, it's..."

"_What?"_ Kek growled, frustration apparent in his tone.

With a quick flick of the eyes towards Bakura, who merely raised his brows in response, Marik opened his mouth and began to talk in a rush of Arabic, syllables spilling through his lips before they were fully formed. Bakura sighed loudly, muttering, "Now, that's hardly fair," To himself before settling on just analysing Kek's reactions, as well as trying to work out a bit more about the story behind this newcomer. His skin was a much darker shade than Marik's, indicating that he had spent much more time in the sunlight – evidently, the tomb had not stretched so far as to include Kek. Placing one finger on his chin, Bakura allowed his eyes to rake over Kek's towering form – he was much taller than Marik, who evenly matched Bakura in height, and so the pale student had to crane his neck to look up at Kek's ridiculously spiked hair. His clothing, like Marik's, was modern, although Kek's appeared to be more expensive – soft silk, by the looks of it, and loose black trousers to keep out the heat. Either Kek was a lot more well-off than Marik, or he used unconventional methods to shop; one glance at his hardened expression told Bakura that the latter was far more likely.

Kek suddenly interrupted Marik's stream of Arabic with a loud exclamation. "He did _what?!"_

"Kek, calm down!" Marik reverted back to English reluctantly, his hands flying up to his face in his efforts to silence his cousin's exaggerated reactions. "It's fine, it hardly hurts anymore..."

Kek growled at that, low and loud, his hands curving into giant fists at his sides. "He _scarred your back..."_

"It was years ago," Marik sighed. "I was ten."

Kek remained deathly silent, resorting to pacing restlessly around the hard, cold floor instead. When he spoke again, his tone was dark and deep, throbbing with anger. "I'm going to fucking kill him. I'm going to _kill him..._"

"Well, it's a little late for that."

Kek whirled with surprise towards Bakura, who had spoken with a sardonic twist to his lips. He raised one pale hand and pointed a finger directly at Marik. "This little one has already taken care of that for you. Unless you'd like to kill him twice, that is."

"What?" Kek muttered lowly, his gaze fixing on his cousin. "Marik?"

Marik swallowed, shifting a little uncomfortably. "That's what I was about to tell you, if _someone_ hadn't decided to but in."

Bakura raised his hands at Marik's death glare, stepping back with a small chuckle. Marik hissed before turning back to Kek. "I killed dad. Just before I came over here. I couldn't help it – he went crazy after I told him that I wasn't going to stay in that tomb for the rest of my life, and he completely flipped. Came at me with the ceremonial knife, but before he could attack I grabbed it off him and ... and, well, he died." Marik coughed, gaze sinking directly back onto the tiled floor.

Kek stared in disbelieving silence for a long moment, his brow creased and jaw jutting, before, slowly, he released one low chuckle. It was quickly followed by another, and another, until finally Kek was doubled over in laughter, his booming huffs echoing around the old, broken garage. Marik watched in stunned amazement, his jaw actually falling open as he stared at his cousin. Bakura merely smirked from the side, his deep brown eyes glittering with amusement.

After far too long, Kek finally dragged himself upright, still letting out the occasional chuckle as he turned back to Marik. "Gods, you've waited this long to tell me _that?_ Why?"

Marik stumbled and fumbled over his words, stuttering as his brain struggled to catch up with his ears. "Um, I, yes, it ... I thought you'd flip. I mean, he _was_ your uncle..."

"Marik," Kek grunted, his impressive chest still heaving occasionally, "I hardly knew the man. Truthfully, I saw him maybe once in my life, never mind the fact that he abandoned me. Why the fuck would I care about him?"

Marik blinked, his confused look almost amusing before his eyes hardened once more. "Well, excuse me for trying to be considerate!"

"As if," Kek scoffed. "You never try that. Besides, the only thing I've been worried about is why you've been ignoring me after you finally got out of that tomb. I hardly saw you for three years..."

"Shut _up,_" Marik hissed, flicking a warning glance at Bakura, who merely smirked.

Kek shot him an interested look, stalking a little closer. "Yes, that's a point. Who the fuck are you?"

Bakura chuckled. "Yes, I suppose it would be rather a stretch to presume an expectation of anything close to manners from any relative of Marik's."

"Ugh." Kek's face scrunched up. "Gods, you're so English. How can you squeeze so many fucking words into one sentence?"

Even Marik cracked a smile at that, and Bakura released a dark chuckle. "Poor little Egyptian. Am I speaking too fast for you?"

Kek glowered, and Marik quickly stepped between them. He sent Bakura a warning glare before turning back to his cousin. "Kek, this is my flatmate, Bakura."

"By _flatmate,"_ Bakura cut in wryly, "He means that he invaded my home. I don't want him there."

"Yes, you've made your position perfectly clear," Marik hissed.

Bakura merely stretched languidly, ignoring the venom in Marik's tone. "I just wanted to make sure you were completely aware of the situation."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," Marik twisted, his tone sneering and sarcastic as he stared Bakura down. "I don't quite think I understand yet. I mean, sure, you've pinned me to a wall, almost broken my back twice, and stolen my food, but none of that actually means you don't want me to stay, right?"

Bakura's face fell into a scowl. He lurched forwards, face inches from Marik as he hissed, "And, _Ishtar,_ need I remind you that you have yet to replace the food that you stole from me? You ought to know by now that taking from a thief is a _really_ bad idea, especially if he happens to _know where you sleep._"

"Oh, I'm terrified," Marik jeered. "If you try anything, you'll just get kicked off your course again."

Bakura scoffed. "They'd never kick me off. I'm far too valuable."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure the university could never cope without the great and mighty Bakura –"

"Shut it, Ishtar," Bakura growled. "You don't have a clue what you're talking about."

Marik glared right back. "Oh, and you do? You pretend to know everything, but I bet you don't even know what course I'm studying for –"

They were cut off by a dark chuckle, and both whirled to stare at an amused-looking Kek. "Gods, you two can argue. I didn't know you swung that way, Marik."

"_What?!"_ Marik spat, his eyes narrowing to furious violet slits as he turned on his cousin. "What the fuck are you talking about?!"

Kek only laughed louder at the fury laced in Marik's tone. "Relax. You two should just fuck already, I'm sure it would solve a lot of problems."

Marik bristled, his shoulders tensing, and even Bakura's head twisted unnaturally as he fixed Kek with a glare. Kek looked between them, his grin widening at their obvious discomfort. "Anyway, now that you're done with your lovers' fight, shall we go home?"

"_No,"_ Bakura and Marik growled in unison, immediately sending each other glares before turning away. Marik stalked straight over to Kek, placing a hand on his hip and glaring up at him.

"Sorry, but you can't stay with us," Marik stated flatly.

Kek lifted a brow. "Why the hell not?"

"It's Bakura's flat," Marik explained quickly. "And he's a thief. The police have already been knocking, and neither of us need that."

Kek sent Bakura an almost interested glance, but Bakura was still steadfastly looking the other way. Turning back to Marik, Kek jested, "And, what, you think I'm going to attract the police?"

Marik fixed him with a look. "Please. I've seen you steal from the markets often enough to know that you are bound to get in trouble at some point. I don't need it. Stay away from me, alright?"

Kek laughed darkly. "You know me so well. Fine, I'll find my own place – there are hotels in this godforsaken country, right?"

_"Of course,"_ Bakura hissed from his corner. "And they'll be a damn sight better than Egyptian accommodation too, I assure you."

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist."

Marik burst into guffaws of laughter at Bakura's disgruntled expression, turning to his cousin with delight in his violet eyes. "Is that seriously an expression?"

"Ishizu taught me it," Kek grinned. "And by the reaction of your friend over there, I'd certainly say it was."

"Yes, well," Bakura grunted. "We've spent far too much time here. Marik, are you coming or what?"

Marik rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What time is it, anyway? I've got classes today."

"It's almost 12."

"Shit! Seriously?!" Marik whirled to face him, eyes widening. "Class started half an hour ago!"

Bakura couldn't stop a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You'd better run along then."

"Asshole! You could have warned me!"

"How was I meant to know that you had a class?" Bakura quirked a brow.

Kek grinned, placing one hand on his cousin's shoulder and shoving him good-naturedly. "Go on, get out of here. I'll come and see you at some point."

"You're not coming to the flat," Bakura deadpanned.

Marik sent him a glare as he flounced towards the door. "He'll come to the flat if I want him to. Which I do. Deal with it."

Bakura glared after him, following him out of the garage and back into the rain, muttering curses about ridiculous Egyptians as he went. Once they had both gone, Kek let another dark cackle fill the garage. Oh, this was going to be _fun._

...

By the time Marik finally got to his class, he had completely missed the lecture and only just slipped into the back of his seminar class before the professor entered. Luckily, Yami had saved him a seat, and merely sent him one questioning glance as the group started. Marik waited for the professor to launch into a long explanation on a complex historical piece before scribbling a note to his neighbour. _'Family stuff. Sorry.'_

Yami spared the note a quick glance, nodding once before he turned back to the professor. Marik rolled his eyes at the goody-goody behaviour, but reluctantly flipped open his own notebook and began to scribble down what he could.

The hour long class dragged by, and when it was over Marik couldn't get out of there fast enough. Just as he stood, though, he suddenly found himself confronted by a brunette girl – the same one who had stopped to talk to Yami after their last lecture. She smiled brightly up at him, either not noticing or choosing to ignore his dark glare. "Hello! I'm Tea. Have you seen Yami today?"

Marik's brows furrowed further, but he reluctantly stepped aside to reveal the spiky-headed student just behind him. Tea's eyes brightened when she spotted him. "Hi, Yami."

Yami jumped, not having noticed her approach, and his eyes were a little wild as he looked up at her. "Oh, um, hi, Tea. How are you today?"

"Just fine, thanks!" She smiled brightly at him, her eyes warm. "I was actually wanting to ask you something – I saw a flier for a concert that the music school are putting on, tomorrow lunchtime. I've spoken to some of the students, and they say it's going to be incredible – would you like to come and see it with me?"

Yami, if possible, became even more flustered, his cheeks tinting a little. Marik had to suppress a laugh at his obvious cluelessness. In his desperation, Yami's eyes fell on the Egyptian, and before Marik knew what was happening he managed to stutter out, "Marik? Y-you'd come as well, right?"

_Fuck._ Catching Tea's hopeful expression, Marik forced a smile onto his face and muttered, "Sure, why the hell not?"

Tea beamed. "Great! I'll talk to my flatmates – I'm sure Joey said he'd like to go, and Mai will if he does, so that makes five! I'll meet you in the foyer at 1, alright?"

Yami nodded, words failing him as he smiled, and once she was out of earshot he breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Marik sent him a disparaging look. "I hope you know that you've just dropped me in my worst nightmare."

Yami even managed to look a little apologetic as he gathered his stuff together and led the way out of the door. "Sorry. It could be fun, though – you never know."

"Yeah, because my idea of fun is watching you mope after some girl you're too scared to ask out. Why don't you just fuck already?" The words were out of Marik's mouth before he remembered when he'd heard them last – when Kek had insinuated that he and Bakura should get together – and heat instantly rose to his face. He cursed himself silently. Why the hell did that bother him so much?

Yami, however, was too busy stumbling over Marik's rather course language to notice anything amiss. "I don't want to – I mean, I wouldn't – I don't..."

"Save it," Marik muttered under his breath as they exited the uni building. "I wasn't being serious."

Yami looked a little relieved, although he was most certainly still flustered. "A-anyway. How is Bakura treating you? Is he getting any better?"

Marik thought back to that weekend – when he had shown Bakura his scars, and then been introduced to the piano – and he couldn't stop a small smile from spreading across his face. "I guess, he is a bit better than he was..."

"Seriously?!"

Marik jumped a little at Yami's incredulous tone, shooting him a small smile. "Well, yeah, like, a tiny, miniscule amount. He isn't going to be throwing me a party anytime soon, but I also don't think he's going to kill me by the end of October, when I can finally get a flat of my own."

"Oh." Yami's tone settled a bit as they continued along the pavement, his expression falling back into its usual serious stare. "Yes, that must be good. I wouldn't want you getting hurt by his hand."

Marik lifted a brow at that. "Please. I could take him, if he really decided to threaten me."

"Mhm." Yami didn't say any more on the subject, and Marik decided not to push him.

Soon enough they went their separate ways, and Marik made his tired way up the six flights of stairs to his flat – the lift had broken down, and the repair men were yet to come in. Twisting the key in the lock, Marik's growling stomach led him straight to the kitchen. He scoured the cupboards quickly – he had taken over all of them once Bakura discovered what a good cook he was – but it very soon became apparent that they had nothing left in. Marik cursed. He'd forgotten to shop this weekend, his mind too fixed on Kek's imminent arrival to properly stock up, and he did _not_ want to traipse all the way down those six flights of stairs to get to a shop, never mind lugging the bags all the way back up them afterwards. No, fuck it – Bakura could sort food out this evening. Marik had cooked enough this week.

As if the very thought of him drew his presence, Bakura at that moment re entered the flat, dropping a bag off in his room before entering the kitchen and fixing Marik with a glare. "Cook, Ishtar."

Marik scoffed. "Like hell. There's no food. You sort dinner out for today."

"Fuck off," Bakura growled, taking ownership of one of the seats and flinging his legs up onto the table. "Go to a shop."

Marik glared at him. "No way. I cook every night – it's about time you got off your lazy ass and fed yourself."

"You hate my food," Bakura pointed out angrily. "You said so yourself."

Marik's nose wrinkled as he remembered the frozen pizza he had been forced to eat on his first night here. "Ugh, yeah, we're not eating your frozen food. Cook something else."

"I can't," Bakura hissed."

Marik sat down opposite him, shoving his legs off the table in order to fix him with a hard stare. "Just sort something out! I'm hungry."

"Fuck it, I'm getting a takeaway," Bakura hissed. He stood and stalked over to a pile of leaflets in a corner, chucking over his shoulder, "I assume you know what that is, despite growing up in a hole, right, Ishtar?"

Marik's glare deepened to hide the fact that he didn't have a clue what Bakura was talking about, but the other's laughter told him enough. Bakura sent him an amused glance as he spoke. "It's where you order food over the phone, and they bring it to your door. I'll call, you go down and wait for them at reception. Understand, _Ishtar_?"

"Stop fucking saying my surname," Marik muttered, but he obediently left to clamber back down those six flights of stairs; it only struck him once he was back outside in the rain that Bakura might have just been winding him up. "Fuck it, if he's tricking me then I'm putting raw chile in his meals for a month," Marik muttered under his breath, jigging on the spot to try and keep warm. It took fifteen minutes for a van to finally pull up, and Marik lifted a brow when a man jumped out with two pizza boxes. He took them, grateful of their warmth as he scurried back up the stairs and into the flat.

Bakura grabbed them off him as soon as he got in the kitchen, opening the lid of the first one and shoving it towards Marik with a grimace. "Yuck. _That_ one is definitely yours. Vegetarian muck."

Marik snorted, taking the box, although he felt a small flutter of warmth at the fact that Bakura had remembered not to order him meat. His smile immediately dropped into a scowl when he saw Bakura tearing into the pizza without even washing his hands, though.

"Ugh." Marik wrinkled his nose, heading to the tap and pulling down a plate for himself as he went. "I can't believe I actually live with you, pig."

Bakura merely lifted a brow, swallowing before replying. "The way I eat doesn't need to suit your fucked-up sensibilities, thank you very much."

"Shut up," Marik responded automatically as he sat back down.

Bakura tore off another mouthful, speaking around it as he added, "And you owe me £7.49, on top of everything else."

"I'll add it to the list," Marik responded sarcastically.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Marik allowed his thoughts to drift back to that morning. Seeing Kek again had actually, in a weird way, been sort of refreshing . It was true, he had brought back a lot of uncomfortable memories, but then ... well, he had been Marik's one source of fun back in Egypt; a trait he seemed to have carried into England, as well. Surprisingly, Marik found it strangely comforting to not be the only Egyptian in this city anymore.

"So," Bakura spoke once he had devoured his pizza. "Are you going to tell me what the deal with your cousin is?"

"Hm?" Marik shot him a questioning look as he chewed.

Bakura sighed loudly. "Clearly, he didn't live in the tomb with you. Who is he?"

"Oh." Marik slowly finished his last slice, pausing as he thought over just how much to tell Bakura. "Well ... no, he didn't live in the tomb. His mum was my dad's sister, but she and her husband were both killed in an accident when I was six. Kek's only a couple of months older than me, and father was listed as his next of kin, but when Kek was handed over to us dad kicked him out."

Bakura lifted a brow. "A six year old kid? Seriously?"

"Yeah," Marik scoffed. "My dad wasn't exactly known for his generosity. So, Kek's grown up on the streets. That's all you need to know."

"Oh, come now. Surely you can tell me more than that." Bakura tilted his head, and Marik thought he caught a glint of genuine curiousity.

With a slight moment of hesitation, Marik continued, "Well, he used to come and let us out. You know, to play, sometimes. He had seen the tomb when his parents first died, so he knew how to find us, and when dad was busy – we used to have a signal, so he'd know – Kek would come and get us out, and we'd play above ground for a few stolen moments, before we had to go back underground. It was the best fun." Marik grinned, feeling himself sinking back into his memories again, hardly aware that he was still speaking aloud. "Kek was my age, but a lot stronger than me, so he would always win our wrestles. I was faster, though – I was the fastest of us all, I could even outrun Odion – so I would always try and make the others play tag. But Odion would always worry about our clothes getting dusty, and dad finding out, so we had to wash in the river before we went back underground. I spent as long as I could in the water – it meant more time in the sun ... Of course, dad found out. Eventually. It took three years to get back out again, and I had to murder him for that..."

Marik trailed off, his jaw snapping shut when he caught Bakura's intense stare. The pale student waited a moment before asking, "So, today was the first time in three years that you saw Kek?"

Marik nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. The two watched each other for a long moment, Marik growing tenser by the second, before Bakura broke into a feral grin. "God, you had a deprived childhood."

"Shut up," Marik hissed, although it was good-natured – there had been no venom lacing Bakura's tone, after all. "I doubt yours could have been much better."

"Beside the point," Bakura waved him away, getting to his feet with a stretch. "You're coming with me."

Marik scowled at his back. "Like hell I am."

"I mean it, Ishtar." Bakura leered at him over one shoulder, his arms high above his head as he stretched. "I saw a bit of your home today, and now it's your turn to see a piece of mine. Come on – let's go."

Marik's scowl deepened, lines creasing his forehead. "I am going nowhere with you."

"Yes, you are," Bakura responded sagely as he exited the kitchen. His voice floated back from the hallway, sardonic tone unmistakeable. "Unless you're too _scared,_ of course."

"Oh, you are fucking asking for it," Marik muttered. He stopped just long enough to dump the pizza boxes in the recycling bin before following his hated flatmate out of the room, afire with curiousity in a way that he would never admit to out loud.

**That's it for now! Next chapter is going to be a fun one, I reckon. We'll get to see where Bakura is taking Marik, anyway. XD Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	6. Chapter 6

**So, here is the new chapter! It is basically a bucketload of Marik and Bakura griping at each other. XD Massive thanks to everyone reading and reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this update! - Jem**

Marik followed Bakura out of the flat with trepidation sitting low in his gut. The feeling only increased when Bakura turned to him at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth decorated with a wicked smirk and his deep brown eyes gleaming. Marik looked back suspiciously, his brow creased and his lips drawn into a thin line. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"What are _you_ looking at _me_ like that for?" Bakura countered, his tone dark and bubbling with mirth.

Marik glared at him. "Tell me where you're taking me."

"You'll see." Bakura chuckled, turning with a swirl of his black coat as he exited the building.

Marik followed with a very obvious roll of his eyes, muttering deliberately loudly, "You don't have to be so fucking dramatic."

Bakura gave him the finger as they walked out onto the bustling nighttime streets.

Marik looked about him with something akin to awe; he hadn't been out in the city this late before, and the buildings were glowing, lighting up the sky with an electric haze. The air was dense and misty, covered with a fine film of the ever-present rain that had Marik's hair drooping at the edges. He grimaced, sending Bakura's back a dark glare as he followed him down the street. Bakura caught it and smirked back, slowing slightly to allow Marik to catch up. "You don't need to look so grumpy. I think you'll enjoy it tonight."

"I'd enjoy it more if I actually knew where we were going," Marik grumbled, stalking the streets beside Bakura with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jacket. Bakura just laughed at him. They paced through the darkened streets, approaching the centre of the city before Bakura turned down a road Marik had never seen before, leading him into a much less occupied part of town. Marik slowed his steps as the buildings grew emptier and darker, his eyes narrowing as he looked around. Bakura noticed his footsteps cease and stopped as well, shooting him a quizzical look. "What are you waiting for? Come on."

"I want to know where we're going." Marik dug his heels in stubbornly, his brows lowering as he regarded his pale flatmate.

Bakura sighed loudly, walking back towards him. "I assure you that it's perfectly safe, as long as you stick with me."

"Oh, that really inspires confidence," Marik scoffed.

Bakura smirked at him. "We can go home if you're too scared to carry on. I should have known you would be a coward, after growing up locked away from ev..."

Marik interrupted by giving Bakura the finger as he stalked straight past him, continuing down the shadowy alley. A low chuckle sounded from behind Marik as Bakura jogged to catch up, falling back into step beside him. "I thought that would work."

"Shut the fuck up." Marik steadfastly ignored Bakura as they headed down the alley, at least until he felt a sharp tug on his arm. Marik whirled, raising his fist, but Bakura caught it with a snort.

"Relax, Ishtar. We're here."

"Where exactly is 'here'?" Marik asked sceptically, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed their dark surroundings. "There's nothing here!"

"There is if you know where to look." Bakura winked, causing Marik's heart to race slightly, before he turned and ducked into a small corner, disappearing. Marik edged closer with a frown, reaching out a hand – his fingers met black material. A cloth; it must be concealing some kind of doorway. Stepping closer, Marik pulled the sheet of cloth aside to reveal a low, concealed arch built into a brick wall. His nose wrinkled slightly. Bakura couldn't have gone in there, surely?

"_Ishtar._ Will you get a fucking move on?"

Marik couldn't hold back a snort. Only Bakura would say something like that. With a weight of worry stirring trouble in his stomach, Marik ducked under the arch and entered a dark, shadowy space. Blackness pressed against his eyelids; he couldn't see a thing. Cool pale fingers wrapped around his wrist, and a voice breathed into his ear, "Just follow my lead."

"I don't really have much choice," Marik scowled back, allowing himself to be blindly pulled forward. The fingers of his free hand brushed against the wall; judging by the lack of space, they were in some sort of tiny corridor. Claustrophobia clutched at Marik's chest, and he gripped tightly onto the arm that was holding his wrist. A low chuckle sounded from ahead of him, causing Marik's back to bristle. "Scared, Ishtar?"

"Just shut up," Marik hissed, but in all honesty the darkness was far too reminiscent of the tomb of his childhood for him to truly be comfortable. He hung on unashamedly to Bakura's wrist, his heart racing and throat constricting until they finally exited the darkness and stepped into a wide, open space. Bakura peeled Marik's fingers off his wrist as soon as they were free of the corridor, disappearing from his side whilst Marik took a moment to look around, taking in his surroundings with narrowed, wary eyes.

They seemed to be inside some sort of disused theatre. Marik was stood at the back, facing the stage; rows and rows of seats fell away from his feet, a dusty red carpet peeking through the ragged cushions, softly glowing in the dim, warm lighting. The stage was covered in a thin sheen of dust and shadow, a shallow stream of particles shimmering in the dim lighting of the abandoned theatre. Marik watched with narrowed eyes, his pulse still racing in his throat from the darkness of the tunnel. Bakura had disappeared somewhere, so Marik made his own way down to the stage, fingernails gripping occasionally onto the musty old velvet of the seats. Dust flew into the air from his every touch, making him sneeze. This place was _old_.

Marik continued carefully down the stairs, his shadow leaping across the walls as he stepped right up beside the stage. The once-impressive platform stood tall and proud beside him, it's strong structure ringing through the room, owning the space. Marik looked at it with something akin to awe - he had never been to a place like this, after all, but he recognised it well enough from books and the TV. Revolving slowly on his heel, Marik looked back out at the seats of the auditorium and a smirk flew across his lips. Imagine standing up on the stage, and looking out at the sea of faces all waiting expectantly for you to do something, to speak, to act...the _control_ you must have, to be able to command a room like this ... the power it must give you...

"Ishtar. Are you quite done staring? We've got work to do, you know."

Marik rolled his eyes at the painfully familiar voice, dark tone as amused as ever. Bakura came to stand beside him, silent as one of the shadows that flickered against the wall; only the faint sound of his breathing gave his position away. Marik didn't bother turning to face him as he spoke. "If you didn't bring me here to gawk, what exactly did you want to do?"

Bakura merely sent him a cryptic smirk before turning and jumping up onto the stage, landing with a cat-like grace on the wooden surface. He turned with a flair of his black coat, white hair falling into his eyes as he offered a hand to Marik.

"Remember what I said about not being dramatic?" Marik sniffed as he grudgingly accepted the proffered hand.

Bakura snorted as be pulled Marik up. "I don't act to please you."

"I noticed." Marik sneezed as dust filled his nostrils; it was much worse on the stage, thickly coating every available surface with disgusting grey particles. "If you were trying to keep me happy, you would not have brought me to some abandoned wreck of a theatre."

"Oh, so you do know what it is. I was worried it was too cultured for you," Bakura replied sagely, dodging Marik's predictable lunge. "Oh come now, we were doing such a good job of keeping this civil. Follow me."

Marik sent his retreating back a glare as he followed Bakura across to the back of the stage, entering the darkness once again. "You keep acting this insufferably, and I'll show you fucking _civil_."

Bakura chuckled. "We already know that if it comes to a fight I will defeat you, Ishtar."

"You haven't seen me fight," Marik hissed.

Bakura sent him an amused smirk. "If memory serves me correctly, that's because I've usually won before you've had a chance to get started."

"Asshole! You always sneak up on me!"

"How about the time I caught you in my room, hm?" Bakura's smirk turned into a grin, and Marik's brows furrowed.

"You still took me by surprise..."

"In your room, Bakura? And here I thought you actually had taste."

Both students, tanned and pale, jumped violently at the new, chillingly cold voice, both heads instantly whipping to the shadows of backstage. Bakura recovered first, that all-too-familiar smirk soon pulling at the corners of his mouth as he stepped forwards. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"This one's personal." The tone of the voice hardened slightly, and Marik squinted into the shadows to try and discern where it was coming from. There – was that a figure? If it was, he was very tall...

Bakura caught Marik's staring and scoffed, turning back to the new arrival. "If you're joining us, you had better step out into the light. My companion here doesn't exactly trust strangers."

"I don't trust _you,_ Bakura," Marik hissed. "That doesn't necessarily mean I don't trust _every_ stranger."

Bakura lifted a brow. "So, what, you do trust strangers?"

"Of course not!"

"Well then." Bakura very exaggeratedly rolled his eyes before turning back to the shadows. "Ignore him. He has this irritating habit of arguing with me over everything."

A low chuckle rose from the shadows, and the air shifted as a tall figure stepped out onto the stage. "I can see that for myself."

Marik lifted a brow as he ran his eyes down the figure before him; needless to say, he had _not_ been expecting to see a business-like man in what was obviously very expensive clothing in such a run-down place as this. The man's pale skin gleamed, his long frame casting deep shadows as he moved across the stage, ice-blue eyes piercing as he turned them on Marik. His expression was stern as he spoke. "Where did you pick this one up, Bakura?"

Marik bristled instantly. "What do you mean, _this one?_ Just who the fuck are you?"

The man's eyes narrowed, and he turned away from Marik to send Bakura a glare. "If he's just going to get in the way then I think you should take him home."

"Trust me," Bakura smirked. "He'll be fine. He's just tagging along."

Marik hissed. "I am not _tagging along._ I don't even know where the fuck this is, or what we're meant to be doing."

"Really?" The man lifted a questioning brow at Bakura, who snickered.

"Ignore him." Bakura moved to Marik's side, sending him a scornful smirk. "Marik, I didn't really expect anyone else to be here today, but it's of no consequence. We can still do what we came here to do."

Marik glared at him. "And just what is that?"

"You'll see." Bakura smirked and turned back to the newcomer. "You ready to go?"

By way of response, the tall figure simply stalked to the edge of the stage, jumped down, and then headed towards the exit without a backwards glance. Marik watched him go with a frown covering his face, the dust whirling through the air making him sneeze before he spoke. "Who was that?"

"His name's Kaiba." Bakura jumped off the stage and stalked after him, tossing over his shoulder, "You might want to keep close, if you don't want to get lost."

Marik stared at his back for a moment, seething, before finally deciding that he didn't really have much choice. "I am going to make you pay for this," he muttered as he followed Bakura back up the rows of seats and towards the exit.

A chilling laugh was all that floated back towards him.

...

"You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Marik was buried in a set of bushes, brambles pushing into his skin and tangling in his hair, the soaked, muddy ground leaving marks on his stomach as he lay flat. "What the hell are we even doing here?" He hissed.

Bakura sent him a dangerous glare from his side. "Shut up and watch."

Marik wriggled uncomfortably, parting the brambles in front of his face to clear his vision. They were watching a huge mansion, the lights of the windows shining out like beacons across the rolling lawn. Bakura was lying next to him, his eyes keen as he scoured the landscape. Kaiba had left them to go round the back, muttering something about a safe way in.

Marik shifted again, kicking one of his legs as he felt the beginning of pins and needles. "Bakura, I swear, if you don't tell me what the fuck we're doing right now, I am going to kill you."

Bakura snorted, twisting just enough to send Marik a mildly irritated look. "God, if I knew you were going to be this irritating I would have left you at home."

"Just fucking tell me," Marik hissed, wrinkling his nose. "I hate this mess."

Bakura turned his head forwards again, muttering quickly, "In case you were too thick to realise, we're going to steal from this place. I've had my eye on it for months; Kaiba must have, too, but I didn't realise."

"You're stealing from _here?_" Marik cast a scathing look to the mansion, his head whirring. "There's nothing here to steal!"

Bakura's eyes gleamed through the shadows as he shot Marik a glare. "That just shows your ignorance. There is a lot to steal, if you know where to look."

Marik growled, his brows furrowing, when a tall shadow slipped up to the bushes by his side. "Bakura," the cold voice spoke, "It's clear, we can go in now. Keep the idiot with you – I'm going for the office."

"I don't take orders from you," Bakura spat, wriggling out of the bush and rising swiftly to his feet.

"And I'm not an idiot!" Marik hissed, scrambling to his feet and brushing himself down.

Bakura rolled his eyes, turning his back on Marik and facing Kaiba again. "You never said before – what is your business here? I haven't seen you working for a long time."

"Like I said," Kaiba shrugged, "This one's personal. The idiot that lives here thought it would be funny to threaten Mokuba when my company overtook his, so I figured it would be time for some payback. I'm taking the office; keep out of my way if you know what's good for you." Without a second glance, Kaiba swooped away into the night, his coat snapping around his ankles as he left.

Marik sent a disparaging look after him. "What is it with you thieves and long coats?"

"Kaiba isn't a thief," Bakura scoffed. "And long coats look good."

Marik turned with raised eyebrows, raking his eyes over Bakura's form before looking back over at Kaiba. "His is better than yours."

Bakura merely released a dark laugh, starting through the shadows towards the mansion. Marik followed him quickly, Bakura's white hair gleaming through the darkness and acting as a clear guide. It was cold out, clouds lying thick and blanketing the moon stars, although it was not actually raining yet. The grass beneath their feet was springy and damp, colours muted in the nighttime air. Bakura strode straight up to the window closest to them, making quick work of the lock and carefully sliding open the gass. He pressed a slender, pale finger to his lips, sending Marik a warning look before sliding one leg through the opening.

Marik's eyes narrowed. He hissed, venom lacing his tone. "You are having a fucking laugh if you think I'm going in there."

"I don't _think_, Ishtar," Bakura growled back, "I know." He slid his other leg through the opening, perching on the windowsill before ducking under the glass and landing silently on the other side. Marik watched his almost feline grace with something akin to envy gnawing at his gut. His stomach twisted. Matters were certainly not helped when Bakura turned to him, pressing his face to the glass with a wide, smug grin before stepping back and beckoning.

"You are so going to pay," Marik grouched before reluctantly shimmying his own body through the window, landing on the hard tiled floor with a graceless _thump._

"Idiot." A white hand swam into view as Marik opened his eyes, and he grabbed it with a glare, allowing himself to be pulled upright. Bakura shook his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. "God, I thought you'd have been much better at this, considering you have literally got away with murder."

Marik yelped, casting a quick look around the room they were in to make sure no one was within hearing distance. The mansion was silent and dark, filled with deadened air and muffled walls. They appeared to be in a dining room; a large oak table filled the centre, the walls papered in some fancy pattern and muffling all sounds. Marik rubbed his arm, wincing – he had landed rather painfully on the tiled floor, after all. Bakura sent him a disparaging glance, leaning close enough to mutter into his ear, "You have to be quiet now. Stick by my side, and _don't_ go wandering off."

"Gladly," Marik hissed in reply. Bakura turned, edging silently to the open door in the far wall and slipping into the hall, Marik close on his heels.

The mansion was large and elegant. Obviously expensive paintings decorated the walls, the floors were thickly carpeted, and there were carvings along the treated wooden banisters that even Marik could tell were very high quality. Bakura's fingers itched the further into the shadows they went, but he remained relatively frugal; Marik noticed only a few items slipping into his coat as they passed, and he left the paintings alone entirely.

Bakura drew to a sudden halt in the hall at the base of the stairs, his fingers curling warningly around Marik's wrist. Marik flinched at the touch, trying to draw back, but Bakura held him fast with a flash of annoyance in his eyes. Marik made a face at him, obediently stepping closer and allowing Bakura to whisper in his ear. "What I'm looking for is in the basement. Stay up here and keep watch."

Marik opened his mouth, beginning, "But..." only for Bakura to cut him off with a harsh finger to the lips.

"Shut. Up." Bakura hissed. "And for once in your life don't argue with me. Just stay here – I'll be two minutes."

Marik glared as he turned and opened a door to their left, silently picking the lock. Bakura didn't look back as he disappeared down the newly-revealed flight of stairs, and so Marik resigned himself to wait, resting against the wall and releasing a huffy sigh. There were muffled noises from somewhere above him, but a quick glance up the stairs revealed it to be Kaiba scouring through some papers in the office. He had a torch with him and was moving silently, so Marik doubted that there was any chance the owners would wake up. Resting his head back against the wall, Marik allowed his eyes to slide closed as he thought over what exactly he was doing here. Bakura had said he was taking Marik to see some of his home life, but this quite obviously wasn't his home; had he meant the thievery, then? Was this truly all the life that Bakura knew? Thinking back, Marik remembered one of their earlier conversations, where Bakura had revealed that he had lived on the streets for a while. Was this his only income, then? What of a family; parents, relatives, friends? Did Bakura have no one he could rely on for help? With a slight clench in his gut, Marik realised that he really knew very little about his pale flatmate.

Bakura reappeared quickly enough, his hands wrapped carefully around something he kept hidden within the folds of his coat. Marik lifted an eyebrow. "What have you got there?"

"I'll show you once we're out of here." Bakura sent him a wicked smirk, his eyes practically glowing despite the shadows all around them. "Get Kaiba, and let's get out of here. They'll be waking up soon."

"Yeah, about that," Marik grumbled, turning and blindly feeling his way towards the stairs. "What time is it, anyway? I have to be up for classes at nine...AH!" With a sudden crash, followed by a series of thumps, Marik went flying across the hallway, landing painfully on his backside against the wall. There was a low hiss from the shadows behind him, a curse from upstairs, and, much more worryingly, the sounds of a new, sleepy voice, muttering, "Who ... who's there?"

"Shit!"

Before Marik knew what was happening, cold fingers were pulling him up from the floor and dragging him straight to the front door. Marik blinked and they were out in the open air, his arm almost being pulled out of its socket by the strength of Bakura's grip. They were running across the vast lawn, straight out of the gates and back into the streets, Marik soon gasping for breath as he struggled to keep up with Bakura's rushing pace. "What ... the hell ... are you doing?"

"You fucking _idiot!"_ Bakura roared over his shoulder, continuing to tug Marik forcefully down the streets and rushing quickly into an alleyway. He tossed Marik roughly against a wall, thrusting his face right into Marik's and pinning his arms to his side. "What the fuck was that? You _idiot!"_

"I don't know!" Marik hissed back, his eyes flashing furiously at the way Bakura had him trapped. "I just tripped over something, I didn't mean to fall..."

"Well you fucking _did,_ didn't you?" Bakura leered at him, his mouth a thin, tight line and his hands pincer-like on Marik's arms. "Fucking _hell,_ you fool."

Marik growled, shoving Bakura forcibly off him and rubbing his wrists. "I'm sorry, alright? What happened to Kaiba?"

"Don't know, don't fucking care." Bakura doubled over, one pale, slender hand slipping inside his coat and caressing something hidden within its folds. "We need to get back. _Now._"

Marik drew back a step, eyeing Bakura carefully and crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Tell me what you stole first."

"Fuck no." Bakura stalked straight back out of the alley, tossing a single hateful look over his shoulder before continuing on his way.

Marik swore under his breath, rushing to catch up; he had no idea how to get home from here, but he hated following along behind Bakura like some sort of lapdog. He opened his mouth to speak, only for a muttered, "Don't you fucking dare talk to me, idiot," and a hard stare. Marik settled for sending him a glare, and promising himself to yell at Bakura once they got back to the flat.

...

"You fucking _idiot!"_ Bakura rounded on Marik as soon as they entered the flat, advancing on him in the tiny hallway and sending Marik skittering back a step. "What the hell were you doing? Are you completely fucking incapable of even _looking where you're going?"_

"Well, if you hadn't kept me in the dark so much, maybe I wouldn't have had to!" Marik yelled right back at him, although his stomach tightened a little at the pure fury sizzling in Bakura's deep brown eyes.

"As if," Bakura growled, stepping slowly closer. "You were just a fucking waste of space. I should never have even showed you..."

Marik's back bristled at that, and he advanced towards Bakura, throwing his head straight into Bakura's space. "You didn't have to, idiot. I never asked to go along with you – hell, I didn't even know where you were going! So what was the big idea? Why did you want to show me your fucking messed-up hell of a life?"

Bakura's eyes flashed. He growled, low in his throat, and grasped Marik suddenly by the shoulders, ignoring his flinch and grunt. "Perhaps I showed you because I wanted to show you something of my life. You've been completely open with me, and maybe I wanted to return the favour, hm?"

"What?" Marik blinked, his muscles freezing as he stared directly into Bakura's eyes. "...Really? You actually steal like that all the time?"

Bakura shrugged, suddenly releasing Marik and dropping his gaze. "What of it?"

"I just ... had no idea." Marik frowned, tilting his head quizzically. "So what about your parents? Don't they help you out?"

"They're dead," Bakura deadpanned, drawing Marik up short. "And I'm not going to talk about it."

"But..."

"Marik," Bakura interrupted impatiently, "Did you want to see what I stole, or not?"

Marik thrust his jaw out obstinately. He wanted to know more about Bakura, and ask about his past, but he could tell that Bakura wasn't going to just volunteer the information. Still, discovering that he was a fellow orphan was ... a surprise, certainly. Marik finally settled on just jerking his head in a nod.

Bakura sent him a wicked smirk, reaching into his coat and drawing out something wrapped in a piece of white cloth. "_This,_ Marik, is why that whole debacle of a trip was worth it."

Marik's eyebrows shot up, his violet eyes widening as Bakura pulled away the cloth to reveal a giant, glistening jewel. It was pure green, gleaming even in the harsh glare of the electric light, glistening wondrously; it was beautiful. Marik's fingers itched, and he automatically stretched out a hand...

Bakura whipped the white cloth back over it, sending Marik a disparaging glance. "Like hell I'm letting you touch it. Thanks to you, I almost _lost_ it."

"Idiot," Marik responded automatically, his eyes still edged with a greed he hadn't experienced before. "How did you even know that would be there?"

Bakura shrugged, yawning. "I like to keep tabs on precious things."

"That isn't an answer." Marik glared.

Bakura shrugged, turning to his bedroom door. "It's all the answer you're getting, imbecile. I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, you ... wait, what time is it?" Marik frowned, quickly flicking a glance at his newly-acquired watch. "Shit, it's three A.M! I have to be up in five hours!"

"You have fun with that." Bakura sent him a smug grin, closing the door behind him. A low chuckle rang through the wood, followed by a muffled, "I will be thinking of you when I'm lying in tomorrow!"

"Asshole!" Marik muttered under his breath, trudging into his own room and collapsing back onto his bed. He didn't have time to bother getting changed; his eyes closed the moment his head hit the pillow.

**That's it for now! If you spot any typos, please let me know and I'll fix them. ^_^ Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	7. Chapter 7

**New chapter, and not on a Thursday! I have decided to update this story twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday, now that my other story 'Thievery Amongst the Ancients' is over. Also, just in case anyone was wondering, all the music stuff in this story comes from my own experiences as a music college student (which I was, up until I got ill earlier this year). So, that's why Bakura is a musician; it's one of the few things I actually know enough about to write. Hope it doesn't irritate anyone too much! ^_^ Anyway, enjoy this chapter! - Jem**

Predictably, Marik was far from happy the next morning. He had tossed and turned all night, unable to truly settle after Bakura had seen fit to drag him out in the middle of the night and then yell at him for it, and so it was with barely three hours sleep that Marik finally dragged himself into his lecture room at the university.

Yami met him with a raised brow, taking in his rather dishevelled appearance. "What happened to you?"

"You _really_ don't want to know," Marik ground out as he collapsed into the seat beside the spiky-haired student.

Yami tilted his head, eyes narrowing quizzically. "Somehow, I get the feeling Bakura will have a lot to do with this."

"Too fucking right." Marik dropped his head in his hands and sagged against the desk, his eyes sliding closed just as the lecturer walked in. They sat through two and a half hours of slideshows and presentations, various artwork flashing across the screen, but Marik just laid his head on his arms and dozed through the whole thing. It wasn't until Yami shook his shoulder violently that Marik grumpily lifted his head, swatting Yami away. "What?"

"We're done." Yami tried to keep his expression serious as he took in the Egyptian's dishevelled state, although he couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at the corners of his lips. "I think you need to go back to the bed."

Marik groaned. His sheets were beckoning him, and they sounded really inviting in that moment. With a sigh, Marik dragged his head from the desk to see that they were the only two people left in the hall, and he grumbled as he clumsily got to his feet. "Gods, I am going to kill that pale fucking freak. I am going back to bed, and I am not leaving for the rest of the day."

"Oh, no," Yami cut in, his eyes suddenly flaring wide. "You're still coming to the concert at lunchtime, aren't you?"

Marik whirled back around to Yami with a mostly tired, huffy stare. "What concert? And I'm not going anywhere other than my bed."

"You promised me!" Yami drew in a breath. "Tea wants to go, and I could really use the support. It's only forty-five minutes long – just come to the foyer at 1, please?"

Marik hissed through his teeth. "Fine. If I'm not sleeping, I'll go. But I make no promises."

"Thank you." Yami's eyes still looked a little wild, but he calmed as they exited the lecture hall. Marik ignored him the rest of the way back to his halls, heading straight up to his flat without a second glance. Bakura was waiting for him. The pale student leaned against the wall, his arms folded in front of him and his chin tilted arrogantly up to the ceiling as he calmly surveyed the huffy Egyptian before him. "You took your time."

Marik strode straight up to him, furiously gripping his shoulders and giving him a shake. "You fucking asshole. I hope you know that I slept through all my lectures this morning because of you."

"Really?" Bakura quirked an eyebrow. "That's strange. I seem to recall sleeping in my bed all morning, and you were most certainly not with me there. I don't see how my actions this morning could have affected you in any way whatsoever."

Marik growled, shoving him further against the wall. "Shut it, smart-ass. You know what I mean. You fucked up really badly last night."

"_I_ fucked up?" Bakura's tone dropped, his eyes hardening. He caught hold of Marik's wrists, pushing him back and forcing him against the opposite wall. "_You_ were the one who woke everyone up! We were doing fine right up until you decided that tripping over in the hallway was a good idea."

Marik seethed, wrenching himself free of Bakura's grip and glaring daggers at him. "You could have at least told me where we were going..."

"If you had just _done as I said,"_ Bakura hissed through gritted teeth, "Then we wouldn't have had a problem."

Marik scoffed. "Like I'd ever do what you tell me."

"And _that," _Bakura griped, "Is exactly our problem."

Marik saw red. He flung himself forwards, fists flying into Bakura's chest, catching him off guard and causing him to fall backwards. Bakura recovered far faster than Marik had anticipated though, and his long pale fingers snaked tightly around Marik's wrists, forcing him backwards. Marik hissed when his back hit the wall, his eyes smarting. Bakura leaned right up to him, pinning his wrists. "Don't," he growled, "Try to fight me. You know you will never win."

"Like hell," Marik hissed. He kicked away from the wall, slamming into Bakura and knocking them both backwards. Bakura overbalanced, his flailing hands fastening onto Marik's shoulders as they both tumbled onto the threadbare carpet, landing heavily against each other. The breath whooshed out of Marik's chest as he landed on top of Bakura, but the pale one rolled immediately, forcing Marik into the floor and leaning over him. Marik hissed when the scars on his back seared against the carpet, wincing in pain. Bakura placed one elbow on his chest, pushing down until Marik growled. Bakura smirked. "Give up yet?"

"Get the hell off me," Marik ordered, trying to force himself upright only for Bakura to slam him back into the ground. Marik hissed in pain when his scarred back made contact with the carpet.

Bakura's deep brown gaze shifted, distancing for a moment, and then he was gone from on top of Marik, a pale hand appearing in his vision instead. Marik quirked an eyebrow, accepting the hand and wincing as his back twinged. Bakura met his gaze with an impassive stare. "I forgot about your back."

Marik ignored him, tanned fingers rubbing the scars through his jacket before his hands dropped back down to his sides. "Yeah, well," Marik muttered, "I could still take you in a fight."

Bakura snorted. "As if."

"I could!" Marik sniffed, his fingers curling into fists. "Just you wait..."

Bakura was saved from replying by a knock at the door. He quirked one white eyebrow. "Expecting anyone?"

Marik shook his head, turning with a sigh into the kitchen and tossing over his shoulder, "You can get it this time."

There was a muffled growl from the hallway but Marik ignored it, sliding with a dark chuckle onto a seat at the table and slowly fingering the scars on his back. They were still aching from Bakura's rough treatment, but Marik could have sworn that he had seen something akin to concern in the pale student's harsh brown gaze. That was an absurd thought, though, and so Marik pushed it away with a quick shake of his head, scratching his nails into the plastic of the table. The door opened suddenly behind him, and a familiar cold voice spoke. "Oh, great. It's the idiot from yesterday. What are you still doing with him, Bakura?"

Marik flew off his seat and turned with a glare to face the tall, brown-haired, business-like man from the previous night. The man barely shot him a glance before turning back to Bakura, who entered behind him wearing his familiar smirk. Bakura shrugged. "I don't want him here. He refuses to move out."

"Because I have nowhere else to go," Marik hissed venomously. "Not my fault the Accommodation Office fucked up."

"Not mine, either," Bakura responded mildly, turning back to their visitor. "Kaiba, what did you want? I have a feeling you didn't come here just to enquire after Marik's stupidity."

Marik hissed but Kaiba merely rolled his eyes, taking a seat at the table where the other two joined him. "I wanted to check what happened last night. Did you get the jewel?"

Bakura kept his expression carefully neutral. "What jewel?"

"Please," Kaiba scoffed. "Don't take me for a fool. I know you well enough to know that you wouldn't have gone to that house unless you were certain that there was something there worth stealing. That jewel was moved to the house last month, which is when you started staking it out. I'm not stupid, Bakura."

Bakura made a pretence of innocence. "I would never suggest such a thing."

"Spare me the crap." Kaiba leaned forwards, his elbows placed confidently on their table, "And tell me what happened."

Bakura shrugged. "I got the jewel, that Egyptian idiot over there tripped and woke up half the house, so we ran. You?"

"Basically the same," Kaiba shrugged. "I got the papers I need to bring down that company. All in all it was a successful mission, no thanks to the idiot."

Marik growled softly, his hands curling into fists. "I have had enough of you guys calling me that. It isn't my fault I didn't have a clue what was going on."

"You don't need to know what you're doing to know not to trip over," Bakura pointed out, stretching languidly.

Marik glared across the table at him, doing his best to calm the anger that was slowly growing in his gut – punching Bakura was really not a good idea, and he figured that it wouldn't end well for either of them with Kaiba sat right there. So, instead, Marik turned his attention to the new arrival, running his eyes over his hunched form. Kaiba certainly looked as if he would be better suited behind a desk in an office, not sneaking into mansions in the dead of night or visiting crappy student apartments during the day. Even the fact that he knew Bakura was surprising; as far as Marik could tell, Bakura had little to nothing in common with the tall brown-haired young man before him, and to see the two of them together was almost comical. Kaiba caught Marik's questioning look and quirked an eyebrow in his direction. "What are you staring at?"

Marik shrugged, unfazed. "You. You really don't look like the type of person who would be caught associating with someone as stupid as Bakura."

Bakura merely released a dark chuckle. "Appearances can be deceiving, Ishtar. Kaiba and I have known each other for a long time."

"I wasn't talking to you," Marik sniffed, turning back to Kaiba. "How do you know Bakura?"

Kaiba smirked. "We grew up in the same care home until I had enough sense to get out of there. And how do you know him? You don't strike me as the sort of person he would usually waste his time on."

"I don't see why not." Marik's eyes flashed at the almost-insult, his mouth drawing into a thin line. This man hardly knew him; Marik would not stand being talked down to for long.

Bakura chuckled again, folding his arms on the tabletop. "Now, now. Remember what we said about staying civil, Marik? You want to watch yourself around this one, Kaiba – he flips over everything."

"Shut it," Marik demanded automatically, although his violet eyes turned on Bakura with a new interest. He grew up in a care home? Marik shouldn't have found that too surprising – after all, Bakura had already told him that his parents were dead – but for some reason, the idea of Bakura and Kaiba in the same place as children was almost unbelievable. They were so different now, after all; just one glance at their disparate appearances could tell him that much. Marik's gaze flicked between them, trying to draw any connections. He drew a blank.

Bakura smirked when he realised Marik's occupation. "We were in the same place for a while, Marik, that's all. Don't bother trying to work out any more past that."

A small frown creased Marik's forehead. "But why? What happened?"

"I got myself moved out," Kaiba crossed his arms, his head lifting arrogantly. "Which is more than I can say for that idiot."

"At least I'm not reliant on anyone else," Bakura responded coolly.

Kaiba grinned. "Nor am I, any more."

Marik cut in again, thinking back over what little else he knew about Bakura's past. "Wait a minute – so, Kaiba, does that mean you know Yami, too?"

At the mention of that name Bakura's pale face turned even whiter, his hands clenching into fists on the table, nails digging in to the cracked plastic. Kaiba's face hardened also, turning with a frown to Bakura. "You mean he doesn't know?"

"Of course he fucking doesn't," Bakura ground out, his tone dangerously dark.

Kaiba lifted a brow. "I'm surprised. I thought you took every opportunity to badmouth that spiky-haired freak."

"Hey!" Marik spoke up at that, his lips twisting angrily. Sure, Yami wasn't really someone he considered himself close to, but he was a damn sight better than Bakura. "Don't call him that. Yami is the only person who has actually been nice to me so far..."

"Shut. Up."

The two syllables dropped from Bakura's lips, heavily laced with venom. He shot Marik a glare, and Marik actually shrank back a little; his brown eyes were turned almost black, glowing with an inner rage the likes of which Marik had never seen before. Bakura's mouth was a thin, dangerous line, his jaw jutting and his brow heavy as he held Marik's gaze for a moment longer before shooting steadily out of the seat and striding out of the kitchen, anger in his every step.

Kaiba released a low chuckle at Marik's nonplussed expression. "He does that a lot. Don't worry about it."

"I swear, that guy has the temperament of a lion on heat," Marik muttered, dropping his head into his hands.

Kaiba laughed again, pushing himself up from the table and heading for the door. "I'm going now. Have fun living with Bakura."

Marik merely groaned, collapsing fully onto the table as Kaiba exited the flat.

...

One o'clock found Marik stalking reluctantly back to the university foyer. He hadn't seen Bakura at all since the pale student stomped into his room earlier; the flat door had slammed about half an hour before Marik left, but Marik had been drawing in his room and so didn't bother checking where Bakura had gone. It wasn't like he cared, anyway – Bakura could do whatever the hell he liked. Marik wasn't fussed in the slightest.

Continuing down the street, Marik kicked at a stone in the pavement with unexpected fury coiling in his stomach. Bakura had no right to flip at him the way he had, when all Marik had done was ask a civil question. Bakura knew all of Marik's past, after all, and after last night Marik had actually been foolish enough to think that they might actually be making progress in learning how to get along. Sure, they still fought, but there hadn't been any malice in it – at least, none that Marik could feel. But the glare Bakura had given him just before he stormed out clearly showed Marik where he stood. Bakura still hated the sight of him, and Marik was beginning to highly doubt if that would ever change.

"Fine," Marik hissed to himself, ignoring the questioning looks from the people he passed on the street. "If he wants to be an asshole, he can just go ahead and be an asshole. He can stop expecting me to run around after him, though. I'm not his damn slave."

So it was that Marik wasn't in the best of moods when he finally met up with Yami in the foyer. There were three other people with him – Tea Marik recognised, but the other two were new faces to him. Tea beamed when she saw him approach. "Marik! I'm so glad you could make it. This is Joey and Mai, they're my flatmates. Guys, this is Marik – he's from _Egypt,_ isn't that exotic?"

Marik rolled his eyes, glancing disinterestedly at the two new faces. They were both blonde with vacuous expressions, so Marik decided quickly to pay them no mind. The woman - Mai - strode up to him with one hand outstretched, her blonde hair shining. "Hey, Marik. Good to meet ya."

Marik shook her hand half-heartedly, holding back a sigh when the guy moved to stand beside her. Joey tilted his head. "So, Egypt, huh? That's pretty far away. Why'd you come here?"

"...Change of scenery." Marik almost laughed at Joey's slightly surprised expression. "I just wanted to get away, that's all."

Joey shrugged, saying, "Fair enough," as they began to walk out of the foyer. Marik fell tiredly into the back of the group as they all started across the city, nearing the music hall that Marik had previously only passed by.

The concert hall was large but filling up quickly, so the five of them hurried to nab seats near the stage, in the second row from the front. Marik grimaced when he somehow found himself wedged between Yami and Tea, although he forced a smile onto his face when Yami shot him a slightly grateful look.

"So, Marik," he started with a small cough. "What have you been doing today?"

Marik rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. "Fighting with Bakura, mostly."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Yami smiled slightly. "What were you fighting over this time?"

Marik held back a snort at the idea of telling Yami the truth – for some reason, Marik couldn't imagine him being exactly pleased at the prospect of Marik robbing a mansion with two people he hardly knew. However, Marik brightened a little when he realised that Yami might be able to tell him more about why Bakura flipped so much. "Well, actually, it was sort of indirectly about you."

Yami lifted a brow, his expression closing a little. "Me? Why?"

Marik shrugged. "Some guy called Kaiba came over – he said he knew Bakura when they were in a care home together. I mentioned your name and Bakura totally flipped, do you have any idea why he would do that?"

Yami swallowed, his features tumbling downwards as his muscles went stiff. Marik watched with interest as his gaze turned inwards, his expression darkening as he looked down at the seat. Shifting as he grew impatient, Marik nudged Yami with his toe. "So? Any ideas?"

Yami jumped, his eyes flying back up to meet Marik's curious violets. "Oh, nothing. No, I'm sorry, I can't help you with that."

"Hm." Marik tilted his head; Yami was quite obviously hiding something. "Whatever you're not telling me, I'm sure I can get one or the other of you to explain eventually. Why would Bakura hate you so much?"

"No reason," Yami retaliated quickly, crossing his arms. "After all, he hates_ you_ for no reason, doesn't he?"

Marik laughed a little at that, realising that Yami was probably right. Still, Bakura's expression when Marik mentioned Yami's name earlier had been something new; his rage seemed to flow much deeper than anything Marik had seen before. Marik shook his head, turning back to Yami with narrowed eyes. "I'm sorry, but he was completely different with you. He seemed to really hate your guts – no offence, or anything."

"None taken," Yami commented stiffly, but he didn't volunteer anything more.

Marik frowned, opening his mouth to question him further only to feel an elbow dig straight into one of the scars on his back. Marik winced.

"What are you guys talking about?" Tea butted in, her tone far too happy for Marik's liking.

Yami flicked her a look, his expression softening almost instantly as he spoke. "Marik's got a difficult flatmate. He's been having trouble with him, that's all."

"Oh, no, that's awful!" Tea's eyes widened as she turned to Marik. "Who is he? Do you want any help with him?"

Marik drew in a deep, calming breath, forcing his fisted hands to relax in his lap. The last thing he needed was Tea sticking her nose in, but Yami was sending him a pleading look, so Marik settled on being as polite as he could. "His name is Bakura, and he's a pain in the ass."

Tea giggled a little at his coarse language, but her eyes narrowed a moment later. "Bakura? Isn't that the name of one of the musicians in this concert?"

"What?" Marik's jaw dropped as he stared at Tea, who had gone diving down into her bag.

She returned a moment later with a programme in her hand, flicking through it quickly before passing it to Marik. "Yes, look, there – he's playing three pieces in this concert. I knew that name was familiar!"

Marik took the programme with surprise widening his eyes. There it was, plain to see in black and white – Bakura Touzoku, second year pianist, performing three solo works. Marik swallowed.

Yami caught his expression and leaned forwards with a frown. "Marik, are you ok? You've gone really pale..."

"I'm fine," Marik snapped hurriedly, the programme sliding out of his hands as he jumped to his feet. "I've got to leave."

"You can't!" Tea hissed. "It's about to start!"

Marik started to move but Yami gripped his wrist, turning him back just as the lights dimmed. Marik glanced forwards with panic growing in his gut, but every muscle in his body locked when he caught sight of the shadow stepping on to the stage. Applause slowly swelled through the audience as the pale, slim student with flowing white hair, dressed in a smart black suit with long tails, strode confidently to the middle of the stage and bowed with a flourish, a slightly sardonic smirk decorating his lips. As he rose again, his eyes met Marik's, and the Egyptian stopped breathing. Bakura gazed at him with utmost confidence, his lips stretching further in that familiar smirk as his skin gleamed in the bright stage lighting. Marik shook slightly when Bakura tossed him a sly wink before turning away from the audience, taking a seat at the piano in the centre of the stage.

Marik slid back into his seat slowly, his heart pounding in his ribcage and his breaths coming fast and shallow. Bakura didn't seem mad anymore, but Marik wasn't even sure if he was pleased about that – the way the pale student had looked at him had almost been _hungry._ Marik didn't like that expression, he didn't like it one bit, but even worse was the way his own body was reacting. He felt hot, too hot in the stuffy interior of the concert hall, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead as he attempted to gather himself.

Then Bakura's hands fell onto the keys, the first notes bursting through the expectant silence, and Marik relaxed. The instant the familiar music hit his ears Marik was comfortable again; he had heard Bakura practising this piece many times in the flat, and he closed his eyes dreamily as the notes washed over him. So it was that he didn't notice when deep brown eyes looked up from the music to fix on his tanned face, their expression impassive as they took in his closed lids and soft smile. Then the brown eyes shifted to Yami, and they instantly hardened. Yami gulped, instantly dropping his gaze, and he was relieved when Bakura turned back to the piano, his hands flying over the keys. Bakura kept focused on the music after that, his features relaxing slightly as the piece went on, but his eyes never lost their hard edge.

Marik's eyes drifted back open as the music finished and he watched, a little awed, as Bakura started his second piece whilst barely leaving any time for applause. Marik watched his fingers fly across the keyboard with narrowed eyes, trying to keep track of which hand was where, but Bakura moved far too quickly for him to follow. In the end, Marik settled for just sitting back in his seat and watching, captivated in the sounds that dripped into his ears.

The recital was over far too quickly for Marik's liking and Bakura stood, tossing him another wink as he bowed before leaving the stage. A string quartet was the next to come on, the four members bustling busily around the stage, but whilst Marik was interested in the instruments – he had never seen them before, either – he wasn't as enamoured by them as he was when Bakura played. Something about the pale teen just captured him. The concert was over after the quartet had played a few more pieces, and Tea turned to Marik with shining eyes. "You live with that white-haired pianist? Gosh, you're so lucky! He's amazing!"

"'Lucky' is one word for it," Yami muttered, but Marik ignored him, unable to hold back a smile.

"I am lucky," Marik mumbled, his gaze distant. "...When he isn't being an asshole, anyway."

Tea looked between him and Yami, a small frown creasing her brow. "Is he really bad, then? What's he like?"

"You don't even want to know," Marik grumbled. "He's completely insufferable. He almost beat me up just for going in his room once, never mind that he comes into mine all the time, even when I tell him not to, and he laughs at me whenever he gets the chance. He drives me mad. He also hates Yami, for some reason that neither of them will tell me about."

Tea's eyes took on an interested gleam but Yami shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "It isn't important."

"Why?" Marik turned on him again, his gaze sharp. "What's your problem with him? I mean, I know he's a bastard, but I don't know why he hates you as much as he does."

Yami frowned up at him, but Tea cut in before he could speak. "If Yami doesn't want to talk about it, then that's fine."

"But -" Marik's protestations were cut off by the appearance of the other two members of their group.

Marik sighed as the male – Joey, was it? – spoke out. "Hey, guys, Mai and I were thinking of going out tonight. You wanna join?"

"Sure!" Tea grinned. "Yami, you'll come out with me, won't you?"

Yami stammered a little, tripping over his words. "Um, yes, of course I'll come. Marik will come too, right?"

"Oh, yes," Tea gushed, turning to him with a wide smile. "You could bring Bakura as well, if you like."

Marik quirked an eyebrow. "Why the hell would I want to bring him?"

"Well, it's pretty obvious you like him," she giggled.

Marik's eyes almost fell out of his head. "What?!"

She laughed. "Oh, come on. The way you pretend to hate him, and you talk about him _all_ the time. Plus, I saw the way he winked at you when he was on stage, and your expression was positively _dreamy_ whilst you were watching him play."

Marik could feel heat rising to his tanned cheeks, but he hid it behind anger as he responded indignantly, "I was not _dreamy._ I hate his guts! The sooner he's out of my life, the better."

A snort of laughter sounded from behind him, and Mai wound her arm around his shoulders, leaning close to his ear. "Oh come on, hun, we can all see the truth. It's quite obvious you go for the guys, and who wouldn't go for someone like that pianist, huh? Especially as you _live with him._"

Marik pulled out of her grip with a harsh glare, the heat of anger rushing through his veins. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about."

Mai laughed at him. "Getting all defensive only lets us know that we're right!"

"Oh, stop teasing him," Yami muttered, half-heartedly coming to Marik's defence.

Tea smiled. "Alright. Sorry, Marik. You'll come out with us tonight though, right?"

"Fine," Marik hissed, "But if you mention anything about Bakura, I swear I will murder you."

Tea laughed. "Ok, don't worry. We won't tease you anymore. But if you want to bring him along, feel free."

Marik glared after her as the group left the concert hall, seething inwardly. He didn't want to have to think about Bakura anymore than he was already forced to. The only good thing about him was that he could play piano, and Marik would gladly give that up in order to get away from him. So when he finally exited the concert hall only to meet a shadowy white figure leaning against the wall, Marik released a quiet groan. Bakura's head shot up to greet him, white teeth flashing as he grinned. "Hello, Ishtar. Fancy seeing you here."

"Bastard," Marik hissed, striding right past him.

Bakura released a low chuckle, falling into step beside Marik with his coat tails snapping in the breeze. "What, don't want to be seen with me? Worried you'll get swamped by all my adoring fans?"

"You wish," Marik snorted, unable to hold back a small laugh. Bakura chuckled along with him, footsteps confident on the soggy pavement. Rain began to spit down from the ever-cloudy sky, the occasional spat dripping on Marik, who shook his head, disgruntled. "Ugh. Why is it always so wet in this damned country?"

Bakura laughed. "You didn't have to come here, you know."

"You know full well that I did," Marik griped, pulling his fingers through his golden locks. "I hate rain."

A sudden deep voice boomed from the shadows, and a spiked head entered the street. "You should have picked a different place then, cousin."

Marik froze in shock. He span quickly on his heel, eyes widening when he caught sight of another tanned face leering at him. Marik grinned. "Hey, Kek. You're still around, then?"

"Too right I am," Kek grinned. "And I'm starving. Can I eat with you tonight?"

Marik huffed. "Sure, but we'll have to shop soon. Unless _someone_ actually got off his lazy backside and bought us food." He turned with a pointed look at Bakura, who raised his hands in mock-innocence.

"Hey, hey, I don't know what you need," Bakura defended himself as they continued through the streets.

Marik sighed loudly. "You've been watching me cook for almost two weeks. You must have some idea."

"I just eat the food, Ishtar. I don't pay attention to what goes in it."

Kek snorted at that, but Marik glared at him before he could say anything.

They spent a strangely pleasant evening back in the tiny student flat. Kek kicked back at their table, gazing around with a grin as Marik set about cooking. "So, you cook every night?"

"It's better than the crap _he_ has," Marik spat, pointing his fork in Bakura's expression.

Bakura rolled his eyes. "You keep going on about how awful my food is. It's fine; I don't see what your problem is."

Marik sighed loudly but he didn't bother to grace that with an answer, turning instead to his cooking. He would never admit this out loud, but a part of him secretly thoroughly enjoyed cooking for Bakura; he loved to see the way the pale student would grin whenever he swallowed a mouthful and thought Marik wasn't looking. Marik was proud of his cooking, and he loved to watch Bakura's reactions.

The food was ready soon enough, Marik setting the hot plates down on the table and taking a seat between his cousin and Bakura. Kek slurped at his food happily. Marik sent him a vaguely disgusted glance, shifting his weight as he asked, "Do you not feed yourself, Kek?"

The tall Egyptian shrugged, swallowing messily before he spoke up. "Course I do, but it's not as nice as yours."

"Sure," Marik scoffed. "Where are you even living?"

"Found a hotel," Kek shrugged. "Staying there for now."

Marik sent him a frown. "Have you got a job? Are you going to get a house?"

"Gods, you sound like my mother," Kek grinned, swallowing the rest of his food in one giant mouthful. "If you're that worried about me, let me move in here."

"Never going to happen," Bakura cut in calmly, his tone dark.

Kek laughed, turning his baleful star on the pale student. "Oh, sorry, Marik. I forgot. I wouldn't want to mess things up with your _boyfriend."_

Marik dropped his fork with a clatter. "Why the hell does everyone keep thinking that? There is _nothing going on._"

Bakura looked vaguely surprised, then mildly angry, then faintly amused. He smirked as he looked at Marik. "Everyone keeps thinking that, hm? Who else has said it to you?"

"Shut up!" Marik responded reflexively, furious when he felt warmth rise to his cheeks again. "It doesn't matter. Just drop it."

"Awwwww, ickle Marik's getting all embarrassed!" Kek burst out laughing, his manic peals bouncing off the walls. "Still can't stand the teasing, huh? Gods, I thought you would have grown up at least a little bit."

"Just shut the hell up!"

Bakura joined in with a dark laugh. "They're just stupid rumours, Marik. Anyone with the least bit of intelligence could tell that we hate each other's guts."

"I know!" Marik grunted, turning his flashing violet eyes on Bakura and pushing down the tiny amount of disappointment streaming through his veins. "It's just fucking irritating, alright?"

Kek grinned, his lips stretching wide across his tanned skin. "Why? Because it's true?"

"Fucking asshole," Marik hissed at him. "Just for that, the two of you can clean up tonight. I am fucking sick of always having to tidy up."

Without a second glance, Marik rose from the table and stomped out of the kitchen, collapsing back onto his bed with a tired sigh and a headache pounding in his skull. Faint sounds rang across the hall from the kitchen but Marik tuned them out, instead turning his head into the pillow and kicking off his shoes, curling up under the blankets with the thought of catching a few hours sleep before he went out that night. His thoughts were racing, his blood pounding around his body at an almost alarming rate and Marik turned onto his back with a growl, hating the restlessness that kept him awake. No matter what he tried, he could not calm himself down – his deep breathing only served to make his heart race more, and closing his eyes only made random images flit across his lids, mostly revolving around a certain white-haired student. Marik groaned.

A door slammed shut somewhere out in the hallway, and feet padded into the room next to Marik's. The Egyptian swallowed, his hands edging to his forehead when everything went silent once more.

He didn't truly settle until the soothing notes of the piano echoed once more around the flat.

**That's it for now! So, next chapter should be out on Thursday, and Marik goes out for the first time. Let's see how well that goes haha. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! – Jem **


	8. Chapter 8

**Ok, so this chapter turned out much darker than I thought it would. That probably has something to do with me listening to Evanescence whilst I was writing it, heh, but I think it turned out alright. It's pretty long, so I hope that doesn't bother anyone. ^_^ I hope you enjoy, anyway, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed – I can't believe I'm almost at 30 already! XD - Jem**

The music pounded in Marik's ears as the nightclub's lights flashed around him. Crowds pressed in on him from all directions, the swirling lights mixing with the haze of the alcohol and forming a potent mix of confusion, touch, movement and sound. Marik kept his distance from the rest of the group he had arrived with – Joey and Mai had quickly disappeared into one of the shadowy corners, too involved in each other to pay attention to what else was going on, and so Marik found himself shafted with Yami and Tea, the three of them seated at the bar. Tea was smiling brightly, her eyes very wide, whilst Yami shifted uneasily on his seat, staring at her for long periods of time before realising himself with a quick shake and turning back to his drink. Marik almost wanted to vomit at the unresolved tension between them.

Luckily, Tea was not completely oblivious. She smiled at Yami, tilting her head as she said, "So, what made you want to study History of Art?"

Yami blinked owlishly at her before replying, coughing a little. "Um, well, I've always enjoyed history, and art is interesting, and when I checked the course it ... just looked good. So ... um, what about you?"

"Oh, well, like you say, the course looks fascinating!" Tea gushed. "I mean, I just think all of our lectures so far have been absolutely brilliant. Don't you think, Marik?"

Marik started when his name was called; he had been idly spinning the ice cubes around in his drink whilst attempting to tune out the loud music. He frowned at her. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The lectures!" Tea grinned at him. "Did we catch you daydreaming?"

Marik glowered at her. "No. I just wasn't listening."

Tea laughed brightly, her teeth too-white in the overpowering glow from the lights. "Oh, sure. You were probably fantasising about that piano-playing flatmate of yours – he was _dreamy._"

"Shut it," Marik growled. The last thing he wanted was to think about Bakura – a large part of why he had come out was to get _away_ from that insufferable idiot. Bakura's hard brown stare plagued him enough during the day. Marik noticed with a small slither of spite that Yami seemed uncomfortable at the mention of Bakura, as well; particularly from between Tea's lips.

Tea was still staring at Marik, her expression slightly cheeky. "No one would blame you for having a crush on him. He is _seriously_ hot – I mean, even though I know he's gay and he isn't really my type anyway, he is very cute. Don't you think, Yami?"

"I think you've had too much to drink," Yami muttered, his features stilling.

Marik tilted his head, remembering dimly through the haze in his brain that he ought to be curious about why Yami hated Bakura so much. "What's with you and him, Yami?"

"You don't need to know," Yami mumbled.

Tea looked between them, interested. "What do you mean? Has something happened between Yami and Bakura?"

Yami's face closed further as he sagged in his seat. His eyes were stern when he turned them on Marik, an almost disappointed glint to their depths. "Bakura and I were at the same school, for a little while. I never knew him very well because he's a year older than me, but our brothers get along quite well."

Marik's jaw dropped. He couldn't have heard that right – Bakura had never mentioned any family, and Marik had got the distinct impression that he was a loner in life. Marik shook his head in disbelief as he stared at Yami. "Bakura has a brother?"

"I thought he would have told you." Yami's tone was dully monotonous. "Normal people like to talk about their family, right?"

Marik just stared in shock. If Bakura had a brother, why had he never mentioned him before? And for that matter, where even _was_ he? Marik still believed that Bakura was an orphan, because he quite clearly had to steal for a living, but he had never shown any sign of supporting someone else. Unless this brother was older, of course, in which case Bakura was the one who should have been supported...

"You have a brother too, Yami?" Tea interrupted Marik's thoughts.

Yami nodded, brightening a little. "His name's Yugi."

"Aw!" Tea was beaming now. "That's a really sweet name. How old is he? Is he here?"

"He's still in school – just started sixth form. He's only 17..."

Marik tuned them out as they continued to talk, a frown creasing his brow as he thought over his new discovery. So Bakura had a brother who, by the sounds of things, was still in school, and he had never seen fit to mention this information to Marik. Marik felt a small coil of anger begin to burn in his stomach at that; after all, he had been completely open with Bakura, probably more than he should have been. Bakura knew everything about him and where he had come from, but he couldn't even manage to tell Marik that he had a younger brother? Marik growled under his breath, resolving to quiz him about this when he got home.

"What about you, Marik? Where are you from?"

Marik dragged himself out of his thoughts reluctantly, turning back to Tea with a raised brow. "What?"

Tea laughed. "Dreaming _again?_ I was asking where you're from. Yami's from this city originally, and I'm from further north. I definitely think you've travelled the furthest to be here, right?"

Marik resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead striving to keep his tone as light as he could. "Yes, probably. I come from Egypt."

"Well, I know," Tea replied, frowning a little when Marik trailed off. "But where? What was it like?"

Marik stiffened immediately, his fingers curling almost violently around his half-empty glass. His back tingled. Turning towards the bar, Marik quickly downed the rest of his drink and beckoned for another, steadfastly ignoring Tea.

Silence held for a long, awkward moment before Yami saw fit to speak. "I've been trying to get him to tell me ever since the start of term, Tea, but he never volunteers anything."

"Well, that's a little rude." Marik could hear the pout in Tea's voice, but he didn't turn around. Her next words made him seethe, though. "I'm sure if _Bakura_ was the one asking, he would talk..."

"Shut the fuck up about him," Marik growled, still not turning. His tanned knuckles were turning white as he grabbed the drink the barman passed to him, the glass scratching unpleasantly against his fingernails. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about, so just shut the fuck up."

There was a stunned silence from behind him, and Marik relished in the discomfort he had obviously caused. It was another few minutes before Tea finally spoke, her tone frosty. "Come on, Yami, let's go dance." The sound of two stools scraped across the cracked floor and Marik smiled jaggedly, inwardly congratulating himself. Now he could actually start to enjoy himself.

Taking another sip of his drink, Marik's thoughts wended their haphazard way back to Bakura. For some reason, the fact that Bakura had kept something from him bothered Marik more than he thought it would. At first he put it down to a lack of reciprocation – after all, Marik had been about as open as he possibly could with Bakura – but he was beginning to wonder if it didn't go a little deeper than that. Marik was forced to admit that Bakura fascinated Marik a bit; the pale student had such a confidence about him that it was almost alluring, with his wicked smirk and deep, dangerous eyes that could captivate Marik from halfway across a room. Marik realised slowly that he wanted to know more about Bakura. He wanted to know everything, and he would succeed.

Downing the rest of his drink in one burning gulp, Marik stood from the bar and made his way out of the club, pushing irritably passed the packed bodies. It was his first time drinking alcohol, but two small drinks really weren't enough for him to feel anything more than a slight buzz as he made his way through the dark city. It didn't take him long to get back to the flat, slightly out of breath from having to climb all the stairs, and his keys fumbled in the lock before he finally got the door open and stumbled into the flat. It was dark in the hallway but a light blared from the kitchen, accompanied by a low, rasping voice. Marik edged a little closer to the door so that he could listen in.

"I don't really care what you're doing ... well that isn't my problem, is it? You're not my responsibility anymore ... Don't start that crap again. Honestly, after all these years I would have thought you could come up with something better ... If you're just going to keep going on then I'm not talking to you anymore." There was a sharp snap, followed by a muttered curse.

Curiousity burning through his veins, Marik slowly reached out a hand and edged the door open a crack. Bakura was sat on the kitchen table with his legs folded on one of the chairs, a small phone in one hand; he was staring at the screen with a frown furrowing his brow. As Marik watched he punched in a new number, lifting the phone to his ear with a quick flick of his wrist.

"Yes, it's me. I need you to do something for me tonight ... Well, get unbusy." Bakura was drawling by now, a smirk pulling at his lips. "This is more important. I assure you it will be worth your time. Get to the theatre, someone there will show you the way." Bakura snapped the phone shut without waiting for a reply, sliding it into one pocket before calmly turning his dark gaze on Marik. "You can stop eavesdropping and actually get in here now, as well."

Marik jumped, then cursed. "How do you always manage to catch me off-guard?"

"Maybe it's because you're very easy to startle," Bakura grinned, "And you are really terrible at sneaking."

Marik glowered at him, stepping into the kitchen and leaning against the wall. His mouth felt dry; he swallowed before speaking. "Oh, I'm so sorry, master thief. I didn't realise I had to sneak to get into my own flat."

"_My _flat," Bakura corrected absentmindedly, jumping down from the table. "And you do if you want to eavesdrop without getting caught."

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Marik muttered, heading to the sink and pouring himself a glass of water. He downed it quickly, the cool liquid seething his aching throat, and set the empty glass back down on the side.

Bakura quirked an eyebrow, coming over to stand beside him. His expression was unreadable. "You're drunk."

"Am not," Marik retaliated. "I had two drinks."

Bakura rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. "And you've probably never drunk alcohol before, considering that you grew up in a tomb. Go to bed. You'll feel terrible in the morning."

"I'm not even drunk," Marik protested hotly. He fixed Bakura with a glare; his mind was, admittedly, a little hazy, but he was lucid enough to remember exactly what he wanted to quiz Bakura about. "Yami mentioned something interesting."

Bakura's features immediately sank, his brow furrowing.

Marik grinned, pressing his advantage as he took a shaky step closer. "Yami won't talk about why you hate him so much, either, but he did mention something that caught my attention. You failed to mention that you have a younger brother."

Bakura stared back impassively. His features were carefully constructed into an unreadable expression, but his eyes were darkened and heavy with emotion. Marik looked into them searchingly, taking another step forwards until they were almost touching. "So, it's true, is it? And you never saw fit to tell me?"

Silence. Then – "I can't see how it's any of your business, Ishtar."

"My life wasn't any of yours," Marik spat. "I still told you everything. And here I thought we were making progress."

Bakura continued to stare at him, his face closed. His tone betrayed nothing. "You're drunk. Go to bed."

"Asshole," Marik hissed, impulsively grabbing Bakura's shoulders and giving him a shake. "You insufferable asshole. You think you can just make judgements about me without giving anything in return? Fucking _asshole._"

"Are you quite finished?" Bakura brought his hands up, long fingers curving around Marik's wrists. They held together for a moment, trapped in their half-embrace, Marik's eyes fixed on Bakura's as he tried to understand what was hidden in their brown depths. Bakura was an enigma, but Marik was determined to work him out. Bakura's grip tightened around Marik's wrists, and he slowly pulled his hands down from his shoulders, his features unmoving. Marik allowed it, taking a reluctant step back at Bakura's insistence. Bakura released his wrists, gaze still never leaving Marik's as he spoke. "You should go to your room."

"You are not my parent," Marik spat, but his head was reeling a little. It had to be into the early hours of the morning, and he had only managed a few hours of sleep the night before...

Bakura stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. "Just go to bed, Marik."

Marik glowered at him, but his sheets were beckoning. With a hiss, Marik ground out, "I am not going because you told me to. I am going because I am tired."

As Marik turned on his heel, edging his way back out of the kitchen door and into his room, he heard a low chuckle behind him, accompanied by a, "Whatever you say, Marik."

Marik couldn't keep a small smile from gracing his own lips as he undressed and slid between his sheets.

...

A loud thud followed by a muffled shout from the other side of the wall woke Marik the next morning. Although his mind jogged towards wakefulness, Marik's body ignored it as much as he could, his lids remaining firmly shut as he curled into his covers. It wasn't until the thump sounded again, louder, and a disgusted shout of, "Turn that fucking alarm _off,_ Ishtar!" echoed around the flat that Marik reluctantly dragged himself awake, one hand slamming out to shut up his clock. He rubbed an eye blearily, keeping the covers tight around him as he sat up. It was quarter to nine – fuck, he had fifteen minutes to be up, dressed, and in his first lecture. "Fuck it," Marik growled, hauling himself out of bed and down the hall into the shower.

He was ten minutes late to his lecture, sliding into a seat at the back of the hall as soon as he entered. There were quite a few empty seats dotted around – evidently, lots of people had been out having fun the night before – but Marik could easily spot the spiky head of Yami a few rows in front of him, sitting with his head close beside a brunette Marik could only assume was Tea. Marik wrinkled his nose, wondering if he could manage to slip out at the end of the lecture without them noticing.

No such luck, of course.

Straight after the lecturer turned off the projector, the brown head swung around eagerly and Tea's face broke into a smile when she spotted Marik. She bounced up, tugging Yami with her and hopping into the aisle, making their way towards him. Marik heaved a sigh, packing his things away; in all honesty, he was surprised she still wanted to talk to him after he had walked out on them the night before.

"Hey, Marik! How are you feeling?" She called as soon as she was within earshot, oblivious to the other people around her.

Marik forced a smile onto his face. "I'm fine."

"Oh, really? We were worried about you, after you ran out like you did," she commented calmly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's fine," Marik responded stiffly, casting his eyes around for some form of escape. People were still queuing to exit the lecture hall, the crowds thick in the narrow aisles, so Marik was trapped in his seat.

Yami nodded to him, a small frown creasing his brow. "Why does it bother you when people ask about your past? Most students like to talk about where they've come from..."

"Not me." Marik ground out, his fingers digging into his palms. "Drop it."

A look of concern flitted across Tea's face. "You know, if something's really bothering you it usually helps to talk about it – keeping things bottled up isn't good for..."

"Shut up!" Marik yelled the words before he'd realised what he had done. He was shaking, his back prickling and his head still pounding from two nights of little sleep. He spoke without thinking, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "Why can nobody in this whole fucking country just accept the fact that I _don't want to talk about it?_ I don't even want to think about it! So just leave me the fuck alone, and stay out of my way. Got it?"

A shocked hush filled the lecture theatre. Tea stumbled back a step, her eyes wide with shock, Yami close by her side. He fixed Marik with a stern look, disapproval clear in his gaze as his hand found Tea's. Marik wrenched his head away from them, his temper not improved by the surprised, judgmental stares from the other people around them. He could feel it again – the anger surging through his veins, tearing at his soul, echoed in the remembered flares of a hot knife at his back. His eyes slid closed and images assaulted him, memories he had fought so hard to bury fighting their way back to the surface.

_His father turned to him, familiar wrinkles tightened into an expression of pure, burning hatred, so much so that Marik flinched, almost falling back a step. His father noticed and advanced, a gleam entering his dark eyes, and Marik's throat constricted. His father would never let him leave this tomb. He would be stuck down here forever, until he was just a pile of bones rotting away in a corner..._

_No more._

_Marik lunged forwards, surprising both of them. His father crashed into the opposite wall, his expression one of almost comical surprise, and then the blade was in Marik's hand, the handle a comforting presence in his palm. His fingers tightened around it as he lifted the blade high, his father's eyes widening in something very close to panic, and Marik wanted to laugh..._

Wrenching himself back to the present with a gasp, Marik forced his eyes open. Tea was still staring at him but her eyes were tinged with concern now, her mouth slightly open. She stretched a hand out to brush his shoulder; Marik jerked violently away, his skin crawling from the touch.

"Marik?" She swallowed. "Are – are you alright?"

He didn't reply for a moment, still struggling to control his breathing. Yami spoke next, his forehead creased with worry. "Marik? What's wrong?"

"Just ... just leave me alone," Marik forced out. His tongue felt heavy. He needed to get out of there – he needed to get away, to be free; he couldn't deal with being packed in amongst the crowd like this when visions of the tomb flickered restlessly in his mind's eye. "I have to go..."

Tea stared at him. "I think we should come with you, you don't look well, I don't think you should be on your own..."

"Just leave me the fuck alone!" Marik twisted away from her, his vision blurring as he forced his way out into the aisle, ignoring the complaints and protests of the people he pushed past. "Besides, I won't be on my own. Bakura will be at the flat," Marik muttered to himself as he barrelled his way through the crowds, striding quickly out of the hall, through the foyer and out onto the street. The air was sharp and freezing, almost bruising his burning, sweaty skin. Marik ignored everyone, concentrating on the short sharp breaths he dragged through his chest and the fast slaps of his footfalls against the damp, concrete pavement. The back of his skull pulsed with half-imagined memories, the image of his father against the wall the clearest. Marik looked down, half expecting to see the handle of a blade resting in his palm, blood from then mixing with rain from now. Marik blinked furiously, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. Moisture fell down his cheeks.

His building came into view. Marik didn't let himself fall apart just yet – he continued through the reception and into his block, taking the stairs three at a time in his hurry to get into his flat before he let loose the explosion that he knew was waiting to happen. He was coiled tightly inwards, his fists clenched painfully, muscles in his arms cramping and fire running across the old wounds in his back. He flung the flat door open and marched straight into the kitchen, something akin to disappointment flaring in his gut as he realised it was empty; the one time Marik could have done with his company, and Bakura was nowhere to be found. "Fine," Marik growled to himself, stalking around the kitchen as he tried to take deep, calming breaths. "Fucking fine. I can deal with this myself, like I've dealt with everything my whole fucking life, and I'll be damned if I start relying on someone else now."

Something sharp seared down Marik's back and he nearly roared, throwing himself into a wall and pressing his forehead against the cool brick. He drew in sharp, careful breaths, his eyes shutting of their own accord and filling with images he had hoped would be buried by now.

_A scream alerted Marik to his sister's presence first. Ishizu flew past him, her hands diving to their father's side. Marik roared at her to get out of the way, the knife slicked with dark red as he raised it high once more but she turned to him and lunged, knocking him backwards. The knife rolled harmlessly away and Marik came back to himself, his breath sounding in loud gasps as he stared into his sister's panicked blue eyes. She was pressed above him, her face inches from his. They stared at each other in the dripping red, and Ishizu whispered words in a hopeless tone, far removed from anything Marik had heard pass her lips before._

_"What have you done?"_

Marik ripped away from the wall with a feral snarl tearing through his lips. He struck out around him, hands coming into contact with the first thing he found and throwing it across the room; a kitchen chair smashed into the counter by the sink, a long crack running up the wood as it crashed haphazardly back down to the ground. Marik barely spared it a glance as he smashed into a cupboard, his fist connecting with old plastic and resulting in a nasty crack. Pain shot through his wrist but Marik barely noticed, kicking at the counter with a roar before turning away and crashing into a seat, his trembling hands smashing into the tabletop and his head dropping onto his arms. He shook.

The darkness behind his lids did nothing to help him, deadened images of the tomb ripping through his skull at an alarming rate; he couldn't keep up, couldn't make sense of them. Random memories flashed through him, his sister's anger, his brother's panic, his father's blood, the flickering torchlight, and washing his own tanned hands to try and be free of his guilt...

Someone else was in the room.

Marik's head shot up, his unkempt hair falling back from his forehead to reveal sparkling violet eyes, filled to the brim with trembling emotion. He was hardly surprised to meet a deep brown gaze set in a pale face, but Marik was more than a little ashamed of the sense of relief that flooded his veins. He buried his head back in his hands again, squeezing his eyes shut.

Two fingers gripped his chin, forcing his head back up, and Marik's eyes opened to meet Bakura. The pale student was seated opposite him, at perfect eye level; Marik tried to twist out of his grip but Bakura held him fast, his eyes stern as they burned into Marik. "What the hell happened to you?"

Marik growled, anger flooding him again. He was still shaking, his fingers trembling against the tabletop as he tried to curl them into fists. "Why the fuck do you care?"

"Don't swear at me, Marik," Bakura ordered, "And tell me what's going on."

"Fuck off." Marik wrenched his head free and forced himself to his feet. His head was pounding, the world spinning crazily around him until he felt fingers grip his arm, whirling him back around to face Bakura. It took all of Marik's effort just to stand still and not throw Bakura across the room.

The pale student was still staring at him with that intense brown gaze, his eyes narrowed, lines crinkling around his skin. "Talk to me, Marik. What's wrong with you?"

"My fucking past is what's wrong with me," Marik hissed, his wrist aching from where he's punched the cupboard. "My past, and people who _won't leave me alone._ They can't take the hint that I don't want to talk about it, and they just keep pushing and pushing until..."

_Torchlight danced across Marik's vision as he pushed Ishizu off him, struggling to his feet. She dived onto his chest again, her hands fisting in the front of his white robes. "No, Marik, don't – we have to go..."_

_"I need to see," he panted, his eyes glazed. "I need to see."_

_She swallowed, shaking her head. "I can't let you."_

_"Please, Ishizu," Marik whispered. His hand came up to her face, brushing back long locks of deep black hair, leaving sticky trails of red in the dark strands. Her blue eyes had dimmed as she stared at him, her cheeks tracked with tears, her breath sharp and loud in the echoing tunnels. She swallowed, allowing his hands to push at her shoulders, lifting her carefully away from his prone form._

_Ishizu fell back onto the tiled stone floor and Marik clambered carefully to his feet. His eyes travelled around the scene slowly, nostrils flaring from the rusty tang of the blood that coated his hands and robes. The usual white was encrusted with black, turning red under the torchlight. Ishizu gazed up at him with sharp blue eyes, her hands clenched at her sides. "Brother, please..."_

_"Hush, Ishizu," Marik murmured, his gaze sliding away from her and falling on the knife that had clattered down beside her. He bent with an odd curiousity, scooping it into his palm and ignoring her shuddering gasp. It lay perfectly within the confines of his right hand. Too perfectly._

_Marik continued turning his head, taking in the spattered walls. He almost completely missed the crumpled form lying against the opposite wall, wrapped in a spattered grey cloak. The same dark black that encrusted Marik's robe flowed across the ashen face, dripping steadily from the points of his nose and beard, dribbling softly onto the messy, cut neck. The form was almost unrecognisable, but still Marik knew him._

_The knife clattered to the floor as Marik's fingers went slack, a scream ripping through the tunnels._

"No, it wasn't, it can't have been...!"

"Marik, please, calm down..."

"I never meant to! I didn't do it! Ishizu, listen, it wasn't me! You've got to help me ... I didn't want this..."

"Marik, stop..."

"I didn't do it, he was going to kill me! He had the knife, he was never going to let me leave..."

"Marik, I understand. I know you had to do it. You did the right thing."

Marik froze at those words, dragging himself out of the dark and the pain, slowly coming to the realisation that the tomb was far behind him. His eyes were somehow closed, his fingers desperately clutching at something pressed into his face, warmth wrapped tight around his torso. Marik's breathing was sharp and panicked, his head pounding and heavy, throbbing with memories, his heart forcing blood through his veins much too quickly. Underlying his body's own reactions was another presence; something with calm, slow movements. Marik quickly moulded himself to that form, quietening his own breathing as he focused on the other, feeling his heart slow, his head drift, his muscles cautiously relax. His fingers slackened their grip, although he kept himself pressed close to the other as he slowly risked opening his eyes.

White filled his vision. Blinking and shifting slightly, Marik stiffened as he came to fully realise his situation. His head was buried in a black-coated chest, white strands of hair tickling his nose. His fingers were clutching the lapels of a long black coat, and arms were wrapped tightly around Marik's torso, keeping him pressed tightly against the other's thin form and filling him with warmth. Marik drew in another shuddering breath and the arms tightened momentarily around his back; Marik couldn't bring himself to pull away, although he knew that he needed to.

Bakura's next movements shocked Marik to the very core.

Fluidly, without hesitation, long pale fingers slid under Marik's shirt and up his back, brushing the scars. Electrifying tingles sizzled to the very tips of Marik's fingers as he stiffened, keeping his head pressed firmly into Bakura's chest, body racked with shivers the further the pale student went.

Bakura spoke. "You did the right thing, Marik, because no parent does this to a child. You had to get out of there and this was the only way. And if you hadn't killed him already, I would be on my way to Egypt right now to murder your fucking father."

Marik was frozen in shock as Bakura's fingers brushed his bare skin, sending burning tingles shooting through his nerves. His head was impossibly close to Marik's, their chests moving together, cool breath disturbing Marik's already-ruffled hair. Marik shivered as Bakura reached the base of his back, tracing the last scar before slowly withdrawing, pulling Marik's shirt back down over his form. Marik shifted his grip to Bakura's shoulders, pushing himself away, almost fearful of meeting Bakura's gaze. He wasn't given a choice, however, when pale fingers tilted his chin and their eyes crashed onto each other.

Silence rang through the kitchen as Marik was captivated by those brown eyes; they anchored him in the present, the last remaining strands of memories flowing back into the past. Marik blinked and moved, edging back a step and blinking as he looked away. A muttered,"Thanks," dropped from Marik's lips before he realised he'd spoken.

A chuckle slipped from Bakura, returning a sense of normality between them. "Don't mention it. And next time you're going to have a breakdown, do it in your own room. You've destroyed my kitchen."

Marik blinked, glancing around the kitchen almost sheepishly. "It was just one chair..."

"And the cupboard." Bakura examined it with a frown. "What did you do, run into it?"

"Punched it." Marik winced as he lifted his right hand, examining the bleeding knuckles.

Bakura rolled his eyes when he saw it. "God, you can't even freak out without hurting yourself."

"Shut up." Marik collapsed back onto a seat, quirking a brow when Bakura went to a cabinet and dug around for a moment, returning with a roll of bandages. He sat opposite Marik and beckoned. Marik scoffed. "I can do it myself."

Bakura smirked. "Sure, if you want a lopsided bandage that you'll have to change every couple of hours. Just give me your damn hand – I know what I'm doing."

Marik grudgingly extended his arm, a frown creasing his forehead. "If you wreck my fist, I will poison your meals for the next month."

"You wouldn't dare," Bakura scoffed. "And I know what I'm doing."

Marik winced when Bakura wiped his hand with antiseptic, but he held back his protests at Bakura's disparaging look. The bandage attached itself to his wounds easily enough, Bakura tying it off and casually pulling it tight. Marik hissed. "Gods, do you have to be so harsh?"

"I just did you a favour – quit complaining." Bakura shook his head, depositing the medical pack back in the cupboard and sitting back down. "Are you going to tell me why you went mad?"

Marik's eyes slid shut, fearful of the memories returning, but his anger was back under control again now. "Tea and Yami poking their noses in where they're not concerned. Gods, they irritate me sometimes."

"I'm sure." Bakura's tone was carefully neutral, causing Marik to tilt his head up with a quizzical frown. Bakura's deep brown gaze was hidden, his brow creased a little, pale hands folded under his chin. He caught Marik's questioning look and snorted. "No, I'm not going to tell you why I hate Yami. What's he done to you? I thought you were _best friends."_

"I never said that," Marik argued indignantly. "I just said that I don't see why you hate him as much as you do. And it wasn't really him – it was Tea, she just will not _shut up _about trying to find out where I come from."

An amused smirk twisted Bakura's lips. "Who is this Tea?"

"Ugh, just a girl," Marik groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Yami's, like, obsessed with her, but neither of them is grown up to do anything about it. It's really childish."

"Obsessed, you say?" Bakura's tone turned mildly interested, darkness lacing through his words. "Well, that could be fun."

Marik lifted his head again, tilting his head to the side as he caught Bakura's wicked grin. He couldn't hold back a smirk of his own. "Are you plotting something?"

"I think I might be, Ishtar." Bakura smirked right back at him, sharp teeth glistening for a moment before he drew his mouth back into a thin line. "You can help me out. I'm assuming you want to get back at them for making you flip, right?"

Marik's eyes hardened, the lines tightening in his face as he let out a low growl. His newly-bandaged fist clenched into the table. "They need to know not to do it again."

Bakura released a sigh, standing from the table and beckoning. "Come on. Come with me."

"What?" Marik looked up at him, tone still a little forced. The anger was back, flaring in his gut. "Why?"

"I'm going to practise. You can listen. It calms you down." Bakura turned to stalk out of the kitchen, holding the door open impatiently. "Come on. Or have you stopped your ridiculous fascination with music?"

"Says the music student," Marik muttered under his breath, although he clambered to his feet readily enough, following Bakura into his room. Marik's fingers itched as soon as they were seated at the piano, but Bakura shot him a dark look.

"You are not touching it today," he instructed firmly. "It's mine, and I actually need to practise. You can watch for as long as you like, but if you disturb me you are fucking dead, got it?"

Marik rolled his eyes, too used to the threats by now to truly be bothered by them. "Sure, whatever. Just get on with it."

Bakura smirked slightly as he turned back to the keys. Marik's eyes closed as soon as the music started, all thoughts of the tomb long forgotten as he slipped down on the stool, the notes sending a multitude of colours washing over the back of his closed lids. Patterns eluded him as he listened, his muscles relaxing further. He was very tired from the last two nights. Marik's head slowly ceased its pounding the longer Bakura played, his fingers picking out a gentle tune that Marik never would have associated with the apparently fearsome student, had he not known that it was Bakura playing. The melody soothed Marik, sending him deep into darkness. He leaned sideways, his head coming into contact with Bakura's shoulder before he knew what was happening.

Both students stiffened for a moment, Bakura's fingers pausing momentarily before he started playing again. Marik's eyes slid open, watching as pale hands drifted across ivory keys, his head cushioned comfortably against Bakura's shoulder. A low chuckle reached his ears. "Remember what I said about not disturbing me?"

"You're still playing," Marik pointed out sleepily, holding back a yawn. He settled further against Bakura, unwittingly brushing his hair against Bakura's neck and sending a shiver down the pale student's spine. Bakura continued to play, the warmth against his side unerringly pleasant. Marik shifted, his eyes sliding closed again, his head turning further into Bakura as the music carried on. Bakura faltered a little, twisting his head to glance down at him just as Marik's eyes opened once more.

Their gazes brushed, deep brown on sleepy violet. Marik's breath caught in his throat; Bakura's jaw was clenched, his head tilting down to meet Marik's, his breath mingling in the air between them. Marik lifted his face up without being fully aware of what he was doing – all he knew was, in that moment, being so close to Bakura felt _nice._ Marik had felt so little of 'nice' in his life that he continued against his better judgement.

The music faltered, failed, then stopped altogether as Marik's lips met Bakura's.

Their touch was slow, lips moving together as Marik lifted his hands to catch onto Bakura's jacket, preventing himself from falling. Bakura was surprisingly willing, his mouth warm on Marik's, one hand dropping from the piano to snake around Marik's hip. Marik shuddered at the unfamiliar touch, his mind screaming at him to stop because surely Bakura would flip at any second, and Marik should really be out of his range when that happened...

Bakura turned his head, pulling away sharply, his eyes narrowed and unreadable. Marik scooted as far away as he could without falling off the piano stool, his mouth slightly open. He swallowed.

Bakura just stared at him.

Marik shot upright, his mind still struggling to catch up. He took a couple of breaths, opening and closing his mouth before finally speaking. "I ... should go to bed. I'm really tired."

Bakura continued to stare at him.

"I haven't slept properly in two nights, and I don't ... I..." Marik swallowed, trailing off. Bakura said nothing.

Marik ran.

He left Bakura's room at lightning speed, diving into his own room and slamming the door shut behind him. His mind was still reeling – what the hell had he done that for? Bakura was going to absolutely murder him. With that thought in mind, Marik quickly whirled around and flipped the lock on his door, peering through the peephole half-expecting to meet a ferocious brown glare. Marik shuddered just at the thought.

The flat was deathly silent as Marik hurriedly undressed, crawling onto his bed and curling into a ball. He clutched his head in his hands, fingers knotting in the tattered strands of his hair. Today had been all-out weird, right from beginning to end. The flashbacks from earlier were still buzzing away in the back of his skull but Marik pushed them away, not wanting to get lost in the tomb again. Bakura had done a good job of calming him down earlier, but then Marik had to go and ruin it by ... by...

Marik's thoughts stopped when the quiet murmur of the piano sounded again from the next room. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to have to sort through the tangled web of emotion and hurt and pain and touch that had been so successfully woven around Bakura and himself. He curled up into a ball, blocking out the images and allowing the soothing notes of Bakura's calming melody to send him off to sleep.

**That's it for now! ^_^ I hope you liked that chapter. Thanks for reading, see you on Tuesday! - Jem**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here is your Tuesday update, sorry it's so late, I've had about a million distractions this week. But you have an extra-long chapter to make up for it (seriously, it is mammoth length. I considered making it two chapters, but had no idea where to split it. Hope it doesn't bother anyone!) ^_^ As you may have noticed from the cover picture, the incredibly wonderful and talented FanGirl16 has drawn an illustration for this story, which is here: art/Nothing-To-Lose-378614262**.** I think it's a brilliant drawing, and she is also a brilliant writer, so you should all go and read her fanfictions. She writes thiefshipping and citronshipping and deathshipping. ^_^**

**To Saki: Thank you so much! I am thrilled you're still reading. I hope you like this chapter!**

**Warning: This chapter gets VERY graphic at the end. Seriously, this is why this fic is rated M. Proceed with caution.**

**Thanks so much for all the reviews, I am stunned by how many people are reading this. I hope this chapter is a good one for you! XD - Jem**

The next morning, Marik refused to leave his room. He paced the floor uneasily, too restless to remain in bed despite his tiredness, bags lying heavily under his eyes and his hair a tangled, unkempt mess. There had been plenty of sounds of movement through the rest of the flat, indicating that Bakura was up, but that just served to make Marik more determined to never leave his room. He was of no doubt that Bakura would hate him now, and Marik really did not want to have to face him. When he thought about the previous evening his blood burned through his veins, his head filling with a welter of confused thoughts and emotions. Kissing Bakura had been the worst mistake of his life.

Marik groaned in frustration, kicking at the door to his wardrobe. He just couldn't understand why he had done it. It was true that he had been exhausted, but Marik thought that shouldn't have been a reason to do something so drastic, and now he had ruined any chance of them possibly getting on. That angered Marik more than anything; Bakura already had the power to make his life a living hell, and Marik didn't dare to imagine what Bakura was capable of when he was _truly_ pissed off. Which Marik was sure he would be now. In fact, Marik was surprised that he'd been left alone for this long.

Marik sat on the edge of his bed with a growl, dropping his head into his hands and curling his feet under his body. His head was still throbbing and his throat felt parched, but he wasn't about to risk going into the kitchen. Even the thought of Bakura's harsh, pale features was enough to set Marik's heart racing, trembles wracking down his spine. He cursed under his breath. Bakura was difficult enough at the best of times, never mind when Marik did something as stupid as _kiss him._

There was a crash from further down the hallway and Marik winced. He fell back onto the bed and allowed his eyes to close, releasing a small groan; he could just stay in his room, there was no real need for him to leave. Bakura would cool off eventually ... right? If not, Marik could just stay in here forever...

"_Ishtar!"_

Marik shot upright with wide, fearful eyes, his legs jarring as his feet hit the floor hard. Footsteps sounded loudly down the hall and Marik jumped up, rushing to his door and checking that the lock was firmly down, his heart in his mouth. There was a loud knock on the wood and Marik skittered away, eyeing the door with great trepidation.

"Ishtar, get out here now. We need food."

Marik backpedalled as fast as he could, his back hitting the wall by the window. Bakura's tone was dark, throbbing with anger. Marik swallowed.

There was another round of knocking, more violent this time; the door shook on its hinges. Marik didn't move.

"Ishtar, if you aren't out here in thirty seconds, I am breaking your door down."

_He wouldn't dare,_ was Marik's immediate thought, but then he remembered that this was _Bakura_ he was dealing with. The insufferable student probably didn't give a damn about destroying property, particularly when he was as mad as he clearly was now. Marik deliberated with himself, then came to the hasty conclusion that whatever Bakura might do, there was nothing that would make Marik abandon his corner and go to the hallway to face Bakura's wrath.

Then, something happened that made Marik freeze in his tracks.

There was a low chuckle from the other side of the door, and Bakura's voice sounded silkily through the wood. "Ishtar, you will remember that I am a thief. That means I am rather good at picking locks. So, I repeat, if you aren't out here in ten seconds, I am coming to get you. Got it?"

Marik was petrified. He knew that he really should let Bakura in before the pale student did something drastic, but his muscles refused to move; his back remained firmly pressed to the wall despite the panic pooling in his gut. There was a loud sigh from the other side of the door. "Fine, then. I'll just have to come in." There was a distinct click, followed by a few scrapes, and then the door swung open to reveal a very smug-looking Bakura, smirk tugging at one side of his mouth. Dark brown eyes pierced straight into Marik, who stared back defiantly, his jaw set and his lips pursed. Panic coursed through his veins.

Silence held for an impossibly long moment before Bakura eventually spoke, leaning arrogantly against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "Hello, Ishtar."

"My name is _Marik,"_ the Egyptian hissed before he realised he had spoken. He cursed under his breath, attempting to move back a step despite the fact that his back was already against the wall, his eyes flicking to the left and right and focusing anywhere other than on Bakura.

A low chuckle rang through the air. "I am well aware of your name, Ishtar. What I am _not_ aware of is precisely why you have decided to hide in your room all day."

Marik shifted uncomfortably against the wall, his gaze settling on the floor by his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, but realised he had absolutely no idea what to say; Bakura ought to know exactly why he was staying in his room. Things were awkward enough without making him say it out loud.

Footsteps crossed the room and Marik froze, mortified when the ends of a pair of jeans entered his vision. Cold fingers gripped his chin and Marik jerked violently, wrenching his head free of Bakura's hold even though he was still trapped by the wall. Bakura was far too close to him, that smug smirk inches from Marik's face. "So, Ishtar. What are you freaking out over today?"

"I am not _freaking out,"_ Marik hissed, his glare sizzling the air between them. Bakura was being far too arrogant about this.

The pale student quirked an eyebrow, amusement shimmering in his eyes and tugging at the corners of his lips. "Oh, really? Is that why you've decided to lock yourself in your room all day?"

"Just shut the fuck up," Marik spat. "And get the hell away from me."

Bakura's smirk stretched into a dangerous grin. "Oh, no, Ishtar. After yesterday, I have every right to stand close to you if I want."

Marik instantly backed up, his brows furrowing as panic jumped through his veins again. This was precisely the conversation he had been wanting to avoid. It was just his luck to get shafted with a flatmate who could break into any room, essentially stripping Marik of all privacy. He hated it with every fibre of his being.

Bakura, unsurprisingly, did not let it go. "What, not going to talk about it? You think you can just suck my face off and then run away as if it never happened? Grow up, Ishtar."

Marik winced, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord. "You don't have to be so crass."

"On the contrary. You're such a child, you probably wouldn't even know what I was talking about if I didn't spell it out for you." There was hidden mirth bubbling in Bakura's tone, and Marik hated it. His fingers curled into fists by his sides, his muscles tensing as he stiffened against the wall. Bakura was always so _insufferable_.

There was a dark laugh. "Oh, get over yourself, Ishtar. Now come on – we need to buy food."

"I think you mean _you_ need to," Marik responded irritably, snapping his eyes open and fixing Bakura with a glare. "I do all the fucking cooking. I am not shopping too."

Bakura's eyes were dancing as he looked right back. "You offered to give me your food. You can't complain about that now."

"I offered you a mouthful, not to become your slave," Marik seethed. He pushed away from the wall, moving as far away from Bakura as he possibly could without actually leaving the room. Bakura rolled his eyes, smirk ever-present as he advanced.

"Come on then, Ishtar. Let's go shopping."

"I don't see why you can't just go yourself," Marik hissed, his arms crossed petulantly.

Bakura shot him a wide grin. "If you send me shopping, you know we'll be eating frozen food for the rest of the week, right?"

Marik glared. "We're not doing that."

"Which is why you're coming with me." Bakura's grin widened. "I'll even pay for it."

Marik snorted, stalking past Bakura and out of the flat with his nose in the air. "Yeah, with someone else's money, no doubt."

"How well you know me." Bakura locked the door behind them and slipped easily to Marik's side, leading the way down the stairs. The air was freezing outside, winter truly beginning to set in over the dreary, wet city. The cold actually helped Marik to clear his head, however, and with Bakura pacing so easily by his side he actually started to relax. The awkwardness he had imagined between them had so far been entirely absent; Bakura was being an ass, of course, but in all honesty he was absolutely no different to how he always was. Marik sheepishly began to realise that he had probably overreacted about the whole thing. There was no need for him to panic as much as he had done – Bakura didn't even seem to be angry, his tone the same teasing lilt it always was. Marik took a few deep breaths and felt calm spread through his body, relaxing his previously clenched muscles. His eyes slid closed.

Fingers suddenly gripped tightly onto Marik's wrist, pulling him to a sharp halt. There was dark laughter in his ear. "I know you're probably fantasising about making out with me again, but it tends to be a good idea to watch where you're going when you're walking through a busy city."

Marik's eyes shot open, and he instantly wrenched himself free of Bakura's grip. So much for forgetting the whole thing! With a harsh glare, Marik spun on Bakura and advanced, his gaze searing. "Shut the fuck up about that."

"Why?" Bakura was grinning, enjoying this far too much. "Is it making you uncomfortable, _Ishtar?"_

Marik growled. "I'm warning you. Drop it."

"Or what? You'll kiss me again?" Bakura laughed, and for once it was out of pure amusement. "That would certainly frighten me off."

Marik saw red. Grasping Bakura's shoulders in a death grip, he swung the pale student around and slammed his back into the wall of the busy street, ignoring the crowds around them. He leaned right in to Bakura, ignoring the laughter in the other's expression as he growled, "I told you to _shut the fuck up._ I was tired yesterday, and I had no idea what I was doing. Now fucking _drop it._"

"Oh, of course," was Bakura's sarcastic response. "You were tired, and your tongue accidentally fell into my mouth. Happens all the time."

Marik shoved Bakura harder into the wall, his eyes flashing. "Do you never know when to stop pushing?"

"I don't need to with you," Bakura commented calmly, his expression still highly amused. "You snap over everything, which just makes it more fun."

Marik ripped away with a snarl, stalking on down the street without a backwards glance, attempting to keep his irritation under control. Bakura was needling him on purpose, he could tell that much. Marik resolved not to give his stupid roommate the satisfaction of knowing how much he was getting under Marik's skin. He shouldn't let it bother him this much, he knew – it was only a kiss, after all – but something inside Marik just wouldn't let him laugh it off. Bakura's carefree attitude grated on him more than he was willing to admit, and the pale student's arrogance didn't help the situation. The sooner Marik was out of that flat, the better.

Footsteps beside him alerted Marik to Bakura's presence once again, but he steadfastly ignored him. Bakura seemed to have got enough amusement out of him for now and was happy enough for them to walk in silence, leaving Marik to stew. The supermarket was only a few blocks away. Bakura kept his hands in his pockets as they neared the doors, his head tilted to the side, playful smirk on his lips. Marik ignored his smug expression, drawing in a deep breath, forcing his body to relax once more before speaking with an attempt at a light tone. "So. What are we eating this week?"

"You're the cook, you decide," Bakura shrugged, smirk once more decorating his features. "Unless you need me to hold your hand and lead you around the shop?"

Marik sniffed haughtily, stalking past him and entering the aisles. Bakura followed, volunteering his usual snide remarks until Marik finally snapped and yelled at him again, at which point Bakura dissolved into quiet laughter. "God, you're so touchy today, Ishtar."

"I have a fucking first name," Marik hissed right back, leading the way to the checkouts. "We're done here."

Bakura laughed, his hands in his pockets as they joined a queue. "I am perfectly aware of your name. It's just amusing to see how wound up I can make you before you finally crack."

"You're a fucking idiot," Marik sighed, running a palm over his face.

"Aw. And here I thought we were getting along." Bakura dodged Marik's swipe with another dark laugh, his eyes narrowed slits set into his pale features. "Don't push your luck, Ishtar. We've proved numerous times that I am stronger than you."

"You've never given me a fair fight," Marik responded petulantly, crossing his arms and jigging impatiently from foot to foot. "Why is this taking so long?"

Bakura shrugged, smirk still smugly in place, before a shout from behind interrupted them both.

"Marik? Marik, is that you?"

Marik turned with a frown, his features instantly dropping into a scowl when he saw two approaching blonde heads. These were the other two he had been dragged to the club with – Joey was the guy's name, but for the life of him Marik couldn't remember the woman's. He forced a smile onto his face when they approached, joining the queue.

"Oh, Marik, it is you!" The woman grinned at him. "Haven't seen you since you stormed out of the club the other night."

Marik forced the smile to stay on his lips. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I was tired."

Bakura stifled a chuckle by his side, and Marik shot him a dark glare, praying that he wouldn't say anything. Bakura merely lifted an eyebrow, eyes glinting.

"Who's your friend, Marik?" Joey was speaking this time.

Marik winced. "He isn't my friend. He really is _not_ my friend."

"Oh, Marik, and here I thought we were finally starting to get along." Bakura put a hand on his chest, his expression mock-hurt.

Marik rolled his eyes. "Shut it, Bakura."

Joey looked mildly surprised, and the woman's eyebrows shot up. She glanced between them with a small knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Ah. So, this is your infamous flatmate?"

"Infamous?" Bakura looked vaguely interested. "How so?"

The woman laughed. "Oh, according to Tea, Marik never shuts up about you."

"Oh, really?" Bakura sent Marik a teasing look. "That _is_ interesting."

"It's also annoying," Joey cut in. "Yami tells me the only way he can ever get Marik to talk is if it's about you. He's always complaining that Marik won't talk about anything else."

Marik growled, low in his throat. "That's only true when I'm _angry at Bakura._ Which is basically all the time."

Bakura's smirk only grew at that. "Pleased to know I can get under your skin so much, Marik."

Marik hissed, seething, but Bakura ignored him, turning back to the two newcomers. "Where is dearest Yami, anyway? Oh, how I have _missed_ him."

Joey lifted an eyebrow at his strange tone, but answered anyway. "He and Tea had a lecture."

Marik's jaw dropped. "What? We had a lecture?"

"You have one now," the woman laughed at his disgruntled expression. "You're about two hours late. It's probably over by now."

"Fuck!" Marik abruptly dropped his basket of shopping, ignoring Bakura's slight growl when it fell on his toe. "Get that back to the flat _safely_, idiot. I have to go!"

"It's just a lecture," Bakura scoffed, but Marik had already gone. The pale student shook his head, grabbing the basket with a muttered curse.

The two newcomers shared a look. "What was that all about?"

Bakura looked back up at them, and suddenly shot them a wide, sharp-toothed grin. "Oh, trust me. You really do _not_ want to know."

...

Marik strode around the streets of the city, extremely irritated. He had arrived to his lecture just as everyone else was leaving, but as soon as he had spotted Tea and Yami he had darted back into the busy streets, losing himself in the crowd. He did _not_ want to have to deal with them again. However, he also didn't want to have to go back to the flat and face Bakura and his sickening arrogance; the snide remarks grated on Marik far more than he wanted to admit. So it was that Marik found himself wandering the streets aimlessly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket as he shivered. It was really freezing out now – the afternoon was nearing evening, the clouds so thick that the streetlights were already turned on. Neon signs flashed out at him but Marik ignored them all, continuing his pacing with no real care as to where he was going, his mind fixed as ever on his pale flatmate.

Marik was still unsure as to exactly why Bakura wound him up so much. It was as if he knew just exactly where to prod Marik to get the most response, and Marik never failed to rise to his verbal challenges, despite the fact that he knew he would get nowhere. Bakura was impossible to tease; everything just seemed to bounce off him, and he had a gift for twisting words. He was manipulative and dangerous, and really fucking irritating. Marik hated the sight of him.

Except ... well, except when he didn't. Marik sighed loudly as his thoughts led him on, thinking back to the few times he had felt close to Bakura. After all, he had trusted him with the secrets of his past, and Marik did not do that lightly. He knew that somewhere, admittedly deep down, Marik trusted Bakura. Then, there was the previous day; Marik had not truly calmed down until Bakura arrived, and then Bakura had actually offered to play to him. For the second time. Marik frowned when he realised that – Bakura might put on a show of hating everything about him, but his actions occasionally seemed to contradict that. After all, he certainly seemed to take an interest in Marik, but Marik had never once seen him socialise with anyone else.

Staring at the pavement with a deep frown furrowing his features, Marik didn't even notice the dark shadow watching him until a hand shot out and dragged him into a dark alley.

Marik stifled a cry when he looked up and recognised the shadow's spiky hair. He rolled his eyes. "You know, it tends to be more socially acceptable to warn someone before you kidnap them, Kek."

A dark laugh hit his ears, the tone reminding Marik of Bakura. He winced. Kek didn't seem to notice, though, clapping him on the shoulder instead. "It's been far too long since I last saw you, little cousin!"

Marik scoffed, pulling away from his grip. "I saw you, like, two days ago."

"But there were three years before then!" Kek pointed out. He tilted his head to the side, grinning. "Besides, I want to hear all about how badly you're doing now you have to actually live in the real world. Come to my flat for a bit."

"You have a flat now?" Marik lifted a brow. "That was quick. How can you afford it?"

Kek shrugged with another dark laugh, leading Marik out of the other end of the alley and into an unfamiliar part of town. "I got a job."

Marik's brow rose even higher. "A job? You?"

"You don't need to sound so disbelieving," Kek grinned maniacally. "I never said it was honest."

Marik rolled his eyes, following Kek into a small building. "I should have known. Why is everyone I associate with here a criminal?"

"Probably because you are, too," Kek snorted, letting them in. Marik looked around with an expression of mild surprise – the flat was surprisingly spacious, scattered with a few odd belongings but for the most part tidy and clean. Kek led them in to a large kitchen, complete with adjoining dining room, and couldn't help but snicker at his cousin's distraction. Marik ignored him, instead looking through the other rooms with a shake of his head before re entering the kitchen.

"No way you bought this all on your own."

Kek shrugged. "Believe what you like."

Marik sat at the table, his lips pursed as he watched Kek make coffee for them both. He glanced again around the kitchen – the table was a rich mahogany, smooth and unmarked by age, the chairs leather and very comfortable. There were multiple cupboards lining the walls, although Kek obviously didn't need so much space when he was living on his own. Marik watched his cousin suspiciously , frown creasing his brow again. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "So, Kek, what exactly is this job?"

"You don't need to know," Kek chortled, sinking into the seat opposite Marik and tossing him one of the mugs. "It keeps me fed and clothed."

Marik shook his head, taking a long burning gulp. "I don't even think I really want to know."

"You don't," Kek laughed. "Anyway, I want to hear all about you. Have you failed your course yet?"

Marik sent him a stern glare, his fingers tightening around the cup. "I'm not going to fail, idiot."

"Oh, sure," Kek laughed. He shook his head at his cousin, grin splitting his face in two as he downed the rest of his drink and stood up, dumping the empty mug in the sink. Marik watched his movements with a sullen expression, taking small sips of his own drink and wondering what twist of fate had brought Kek here. His cousin had always represented a source of freedom to Marik, as he was the only person from the world above ground that he had any contact with. To see Kek here, in a dreary English city, was as strange as seeing a wild lion in a suit heading to work in an office with a briefcase in hand. Marik felt his lips quirk into a small smile.

Kek caught his look and tilted his head questioningly. "What's got into you? Dreaming about that flatmate of yours?"

"What?!" Marik almost spat out his drink, spluttering as he forced himself to swallow. "Why the hell would you think that?"

Kek rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Because I know you, Marik, and the way you two were looking at each other practically screamed sexual tension. Have you fucked him yet?"

Marik choked.

Kek snorted. "Gods, you really should get on that. The sooner you get it out the way, the better. Tell me you've at least made out with him?"

Marik hissed, instantly going on the defensive. "None of your fucking business." He deliberately avoided his cousin's gaze, focusing instead on downing the rest of his coffee in the hope of hiding his flustered expression.

Kek caught it, of course, and when the mug was lowered from Marik's face a dark violet glare was piercing straight into him. "You _have_ made out with him? Well, about time. You need to fuck him next, then everything will be sorted."

Marik hissed, refusing to meet Kek's gaze as he slammed the mug down into the table. Kek shook his head at his cousin's expression, his brows actually lowering into a frown. "Seriously, Marik, why do you let him get to you so much?"

"I don't fucking know," Marik ground out, dropping his head onto the table. His forehead hit the wood painfully and he winced, but he was grateful for not having to meet Kek's scrutinising stare anymore. His head was pounding again, his throat burning from the drink, and he was still very tired. He found it difficult to sleep in this freezing country.

"Marik, seriously." There was the sound of a chair scraping across tiles. "If he irritates you, move out. But you made out with him, so you can't hate him that much."

"Oh, trust me," Marik growled, "I really do hate him. He's a total ass."

Kek laughed. "You made out with someone you hate?"

"It was an accident!" Marik lifted his head, his expression almost hopeless.

Kek just shook his head, grin stretching his lips wide as he examined his cousin. "You have serious problems if you think you can make out with someone _by accident._"

Marik groaned, his head hitting the table again. He didn't want to dwell on the implications of Kek's words, because that would mean that he had _wanted_ to kiss Bakura. Marik was terrified of that thought, mostly because a small part of him believed it to be true. His lips had felt incredibly soft and warm, his mouth so inviting...

Marik wrenched his thoughts away with a gasp, a little disgusted at himself. He stood up abruptly. "I have to go."

"What, are you running away from this, too?" Kek lifted a brow at Marik, his lips pursing. "You need to start dealing with your emotions, Marik. You're not in a tomb anymore."

Marik winced, pain searing down his back and filling his mind with an angry red mist. He pushed away half-remembered images, forcing himself to stay focused on the present, and how very pissed-off he was. "I am not running away. I've been out for ages, Bakura will be wondering where I am."

"Oh, and you care about what he thinks, do you?"

Marik seethed inwardly when he realised that those words were true. Yes, he cared what Bakura thought of him; he was embarrassed of his naivety, but Bakura had actually helped him more than Marik cared to remember, along with a whole load of teasing and cruelty, of course. But he had played for Marik twice, as well, which meant more to him than Bakura probably realised.

"Gods, cousin." Kek shook his head when Marik zoned out yet again, his expression distant and almost yearning. "You have got it bad."

Marik snapped back to the present, sending Kek a dark, angry glare, his violet eyes flashing. "Shut the fuck up! I don't feel anything for Bakura!"

Kek rolled his eyes. "Sure you don't."

"I don't!"

"Prove it, then." Kek was grinning now as he met Marik's defiant gaze. "Come out with me tonight, and pull someone. Anyone; male female, animal, machine, I don't care. Just pull someone, and then I will leave you alone about Bakura."

Marik stopped short at that, his eyes widening momentarily. He had never been with anyone before – in fact, the kiss with Bakura had been his first experience of anything remotely romantic – so to hear his cousin suggest something like that was almost ... _barbaric._

Kek snorted when he saw Marik's faintly disgusted expression. "Don't look like that. I'm not asking you to fall in love – just pull someone."

Marik chewed his lip. This was definitely out of his comfort zone; just a few months ago, the only people he had come into frequent contact with were his father, his siblings and his cousin, so he was still awkward in social situations. He was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of just pulling someone – he had no idea how to go about it.

"Of course, you don't have to, if you're too scared. Or if you really want to be with Bakura but know you could never have him..."

Damn Kek.

"Fine," Marik hissed. "Deal. But you had better shut the fuck up about Bakura."

Kek just grinned widely at him, his lips pulled back in a maniacal grin.

...

Marik eventually arrived back at the flat just as dusk began to spread its long grey fingers over the city. He shut the door tiredly behind him, depositing his keys in the kitchen before dragging his tired feet back out to the kitchen. Bakura was already in there, on the phone again, although this time he was pacing around the flat with an agitated expression on his face. Marik slipped through the door quietly, unsure as to whether the distracted student had even noticed his arrival.

"I don't fucking care about that. He can go to hell for all I care, just as long as you understand that you are _nothing to do with me_ anymore."

Marik lifted a brow, surprised by the amount of venom in Bakura's tone. It was worse than anything he had ever turned on Marik before.

"No, I don't give a damn. Do whatever you need to, just stay the fuck out of my life, alright? I don't need to deal with you anymore. I don't care what you think, idiot. You're not pulling that one on me again. I've made myself perfectly clear; I don't want to hear from you again." Bakura practically spat the last few words out before angrily chucking the phone half way across the kitchen; it skidded across the floor, coming to a half-hearted halt beside the still-cracked cupboard.

Marik shook his head. "What's got into you?"

"Where the fuck have you been?" Bakura growled, his brown eyes searing straight through Marik.

Marik tilted his head. "I ran in to Kek, went to visit him for a bit. Who's got you so wound up?"

"None of your fucking business." Bakura drew in a deep breath, his features relaxing slightly when he looked back at Marik. "Why have I got no food yet?"

Marik snorted, heading to the cupboards. "It wouldn't kill you to make it yourself, you know."

"You hate my food," Bakura pointed out, stretching before collapsing in one of the seats at the table.

Marik sent him a questioning look. "We don't have to eat together."

Bakura shrugged, his fingers scratching into the hard plastic of the table as he avoided Marik's gaze. "We always do. Cook quickly – I've got to be at a concert in half an hour."

Marik gave him the finger as he dug out a clean saucepan, switching on the hob. Bakura chuckled. "Did no one ever teach you how rude that gesture is?"

"Oh, they did," Marik smiled sweetly, his features almost angelic as he turned them on Bakura. "That's why I only save it for special occasions."

Bakura rolled his eyes, his foot tapping impatiently whilst he waited for Marik to finish. The meal was served up soon enough, both students tucking in without talking. Bakura finished first, leaping out of his seat and heading straight for the door.

Marik coughed pointedly. "Plate. Sink. Now."

"As if," Bakura scoffed. "I told you, I'm running late."

"I don't care. You're still washing up."

"I'll do it later," Bakura responded impatiently, one foot already out of the door.

Marik pursed his lips. "What concert is so important that you need to leave in such a rush? The last one really wasn't that great."

Bakura looked vaguely affronted before a smirk crossed his features. He stepped fully back into the room, folding his arms and leaning confidently against the wall. "Oh, really? Because from where I was sitting, you seemed to rather enjoy it, Marik."

Marik lifted a brow. "As if. You wouldn't have been looking at me."

"I was," Bakura assured with a sharp-toothed grin. "You had your eyes closed and looked positively ecstatic. Never mind how much you love my playing in the flat – last night is a case in point."

Marik bristled instantly, standing from the seat in one fluid motion and sending Bakura a harsh glare. "I told you to _shut the fuck up_ about that!"

"And I didn't listen to you," Bakura responded sagely, wide grin stretching his lips. "I have to go now. I'll be sure to continue this _fascinating_ conversation with you later. Who knows, maybe if I play again this evening I'll get lucky and you'll jump me again." He was out of the door before Marik could respond, dark laughter echoing through the flat long after he had gone.

Marik seethed, his blood burning through his veins at the arrogance in Bakura's tone. How could the pale student be so calm about all this? So _teasing,_ in fact? Marik found the whole situation incredibly awkward, and would have been much more comfortable if it was never mentioned ever again. He had thought that Bakura would feel the same, or if he didn't, that he would be furious at Marik for trying something like that. Not that Marik had really been trying – he had never meant to kiss Bakura. He really didn't know what made him do it.

With a long drawn out sigh, Marik sank back into his seat, picking at the remains of the meal. What had made him kiss Bakura? He had never felt the urge to do something like that before, given his extremely sheltered background. Something about Bakura just made him feel comfortable, though – well, at least, it did when Bakura wasn't being an insufferable ass, like he had been today.

Marik sighed, giving up on his food and tossing the rest of it in the bin. He shoved his plate in the sink alongside Bakura's, determined to leave them for him to wash later; Marik wasn't going to act as Bakura's slave. It was getting near time for Marik to meet Kek, so he went and changed into something a little more fitting for clubbing, settling on a tight purple top and skinny jeans. He pulled a light black jacket over the top, remembering how miserable the weather got here, before grabbing his keys and wallet and making for the door.

It was cold out on the streets, sending shivers down Marik's spine as he waited impatiently for his cousin to show up. It was fully dark by now, the streets lit by flashing signs and neon lights, sending a hazy glare settling over the whole city. Marik sighed when he looked up and couldn't see the stars.

"You showed up, then." Kek appeared beside Marik, grin on his face as he started walking. "And here I thought you'd chicken out."

Marik scoffed, ignoring the small part of him that very badly wanted to. He wouldn't back away from the challenge now, though, because he knew that Kek would never let him live it down if he did.

Kek led the way confidently through the streets, leading them to a club chock-full of students. Loud music beat out from behind the closed doors, flashing lights just visible through the throng of people crowding to get in. Trepidation sat low in Marik's gut as they joined the crowds, Kek a leering shadow by his side. "This is a mistake," Marik muttered under his breath, eyeing the people around him with something close to distaste.

A dark laugh sounded from behind him. "What, too frightened to be here, _Ishtar?"_

Marik froze when he recognised that tone, spinning on his heels with wide eyes; they grew even wider when he met a familiar pale face. Bakura was smirking. "I imagine this is a bit out of your comfort zone. Just don't get drunk like last time, alright?"

"I was not drunk!" Marik reflexively shouted, his brow creasing into knots. "What the hell are you even doing here? I thought you had a concert."

"I did. It's finished," Bakura shrugged, grin widening when his gaze fell on Kek. "Oh, you brought your cousin? Wonderful. Now I get to torment _two_ idiotic Egyptians."

To Marik's surprise, Kek merely laughed. "Torment Marik all you like, but try anything with me and I'll kill you, got it?"

Bakura smirked. "As if you could kill me."

"Do you really want to risk it?" Kek sent him a wide leer, his eyes gleaming in the flashing lights.

Bakura's lips widened into a grin as he shot Marik a sidelong glance, tossing him a wink. "Na, not tonight. I'm hoping to get lucky." With another smirk aimed at Marik, Bakura disappeared back into the crowd.

Marik stared after him, his jaw almost on the floor. He groaned. "Can we just leave now?"

"No can do, kiddo," Kek laughed, ruffling his hair. "At least, not if you want to prove to me that you don't want to fuck Bakura."

Marik hissed, glancing anxiously at the crowd before fixing Kek with a glare. "Keep it down, idiot!"

Kek merely laughed as they made their slow way up to the doors.

The club was just as bad as Marik had feared. The music made it impossible to think straight, Marik's head pounding from the moment they entered. Kek led him straight to the bar, ordering them both a drink and crashing down onto two of the stools, pushing aside the crowd of sloppily drunk students. Marik sniffed at the state of the chairs, but it was better than standing. The throng pushed in around them, the heat of bodies sending trickles of sweat down Marik's already-sore back, and he seriously began to consider just getting up and leaving; any amount of teasing from Kek would be better than this.

The thought of getting out of there became even more appealing when he caught sight of a pair of heads coming his way, one cropped brunette, one spiky.

Marik groaned.

"Marik!" Tea bounded over to him with a wide grin lighting up her face, the lights playing off her pale skin and draining her of all colour. Yami remained by her side, nodding once to Marik, his eyes clouded with worry.

Marik forced a smile onto his lips, feigning happiness for the second time that day. "Hey Tea, Yami."

"Are you here on your own?" Tea looked a little worried. "You could have come with us, if we'd known where you were. You missed the lecture earlier!"

Marik tried not to let his expression dim, although his lips pursed slightly. He didn't really want to have to deal with more of their questions tonight. "Oh, I'm not here on my own. My cousin..." Marik turned to the seat next to him, only to find it empty. With a frown, Marik scanned the club, cursing under his breath. Great. Kek had just disappeared.

"Marik?"

With a low groan, Marik turned back to the pair by his side. Tea was shooting him a worried look. "Are you ok?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah..." Marik scanned the crowd once more, feeling a little disappointed when Kek was nowhere to be found. "I just can't find my cousin. He was right here with me..."

"Your cousin?" Yami spoke up, his calm voice too quiet amongst the mess of music and dancing. "I didn't know you had any family here."

"He moved after I did," Marik explained, trying and failing to keep his voice calm. He had a hunch that Tea and Yami would not leave him alone now.

He was right. A small frown soon creased Yami's brow. "So, you do have family in Egypt? You've always been so closed, I assumed you were on your own."

"I'm not." Marik ground out.

Tea, of course, jumped in here. "Ah, that's really exciting! Don't you miss them, though? I find it hard enough just being a few cities away from my parents, never mind a whole continent!"

"My parents are dead," Marik growled, hoping that this would shock them both enough to make them shut up and leave him alone. He was not going to get into this when he was tired.

Tea, unfortunately, did not take the hint. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry! That's awful! Is that why you moved to England?"

Marik merely grunted, turning back to the bar and downing the rest of his drink. The flashbacks were pulsing in the back of his skull again, sending unwanted images of violence and pain shuddering through his mind. Marik blinked them away, blearily ordering another drink and attempting to block out the horridly loud music.

Tea wedged herself into the seat beside him, meeting his gaze with worried blue eyes. "Marik, if you're having problems dealing with your emotions, maybe you should see someone ... I'm sure there are people at uni who could help you, I'll put in a word for you if you like, the counselling team are really good..."

"Just shut up about it," Marik muttered, too tired to get really cross with her. He took a long draft of his new drink, enjoying the tingles the alcohol sent to the corners of his body and the haze that slowly set over his mind.

Tea was still looking at him, pity in her vacuous eyes. Marik almost wanted to throw up. She smiled at him, the expression insincere. "I just want to help you, Marik..."

"Then shut the fuck up," he growled. "Take Yami and get the hell out of here."

Tea blinked, turning to Yami with a helpless expression. He stood beside her, sending Marik an almost sad stare as he spoke softly to Tea. "Don't worry, he obviously doesn't want to talk. Best we just leave it..."

"Yes, leaving things is what you do best, isn't it, _Yami_?"

Marik started at that familiar cold voice, almost jumping out of his skin when an arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. Bakura ignored him, turning his harsh glare on the spiky-haired student instead, his intense brown eyes burning.

Yami flinched. "Hello, Bakura."

Bakura growled, the noise feral and threatening in Marik's ear; he would have moved away, were it not for the arm around his shoulders. Instead, the Egyptian took another drink, watching the small scene unfold before him.

Yami backed away slightly from Bakura's dark glare, catching Tea's hand and tugging. "Come on. We should leave."

Tea looked a little sad, still sending worried looks in Marik's direction even as she allowed herself to be led away. Marik watched them go with relief pooling in his gut, swallowing the last of his drink before placing it back on the bar. Bakura growled, not moving his arm from about Marik's shoulders as he alighted onto a stool beside him. "What are you drinking?"

Marik shrugged. "Anything alcoholic."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Bakura chuckled darkly even as he beckoned the barman over. "After you got so drunk last time?"

Marik huffed, pulling himself out of Bakura's grip and sticking his nose haughtily in the air. "For the last time, I was not drunk."

"You are now, though." Bakura winked at him, passing over another drink.

Marik sniffed it suspiciously, his brow creasing. "...You didn't spike this, did you?"

"Of course not. What do you take me for?" Bakura was grinning though, taking a long draft of his own drink. Marik shrugged and lifted the glass to his lips; the alcohol burned a searing trail down his throat, but he refused to cough.

Bakura seemed to approve, his brown eyes sparkling through the haze in Marik's brain. "You look rather worse for the wear."

"I am fucking sick of people asking about my past," Marik ground out, his voice more gravelly than it had ever been before.

Bakura lifted a brow, gesturing in the direction Yami and Tea had gone. "Is that what they were bothering you about?"

Marik merely nodded, taking another drink. He liked the alcohol – it tingled through his veins, sending little bursts of warmth through his blood, flushing his cheeks and causing his eyes to glow. Turning to the pale student by his side, Marik had a hard time taking his eyes away. Bakura's skin shone eerily in the swirling lights, his eyes as sharp as ever as they looked into Marik, picking out everything that went on in his head. His black coat stood out proudly against his ghostly strands of hair, making him a striking figure in a crowd. Marik was drawn to him, and he couldn't help edging his stool a little closer.

If Bakura noticed he didn't comment, instead nodding back over to where Yami and Tea had disappeared. "You're going to have to get used to that, you know. Being asked about your past, I mean; you're a mystery to them, and they're going to want to work you out."

"Well they fucking shouldn't," Marik grumbled into his now-empty glass. "Says you, anyway – could you get any more mysterious? You tell me nothing about where you come from."

Bakura shrugged, smirk dropping from his face momentarily. "It isn't any of your business."

"It should be when I have to live with you," Marik pointed out. "Who were you on the phone to earlier? You sounded pretty mad."

Bakura turned a harsh glare on him. "None of your fucking business."

"I told you everything," Marik continued, ignoring the whine that showed through in his tone. "It's only fair you tell me about you, too."

"Life isn't fair, Ishtar." Bakura finished his drink, placing the glass back down on the counter slowly.

Marik glared at him. His tongue felt heavy, his heart beating too fast, his mind a confused welter of emotions. "My name is Marik," he managed, his mouth slow to form the words. "Don't call me Ishtar. I'm Marik."

Bakura glanced back at him, brown crashing onto violet as the two gazes met. Marik felt shudders rack down his spine. He swallowed.

Bakura leaned closer, one arm tightening around Marik's shoulders. Their foreheads were almost touching. "Why?" Bakura breathed, his voice so low that Marik had to strain to hear it, despite their incredible proximity. "Why don't you like me calling you Ishtar?"

Marik took his time with responding, allowing the thoughts to flow through his skull before he attempted to voice them. "...I don't like being an Ishtar."

Bakura quirked a brow, so Marik tried to explain further. "Being an Ishtar means living in a tomb in Egypt. I got out. I don't want to be constantly reminded of where I come from."

Bakura turned the words over, his brow furrowing, before he nodded slowly, meeting Marik's gaze again. He smirked, and Marik stopped breathing. Bakura leaned even closer, his lips brushing Marik's cheek as he whispered, "Alright then. Marik it is."

Marik shivered at the cool breath on his skin, the tingles in his veins increasing. Bakura was so close, and his body was cool against Marik's burning skin, and suddenly Marik remembered how soft his lips had been when they kissed the previous night...

Before Marik knew what he was doing, his head had turned and he had brushed Bakura's lips, once, with his.

Bakura went still momentarily, his brown eyes searing through Marik's. Marik stared right back, uncaring of whatever emotion he was showing; the alcohol was truly setting in now, filling him with fuzzy warmth and aching desire, and Bakura was right there in front of him. Bakura tilted his head to the side, smirk tugging at his lips again. "You're drunk."

"Probably," Marik shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant through the slurring of his words.

Bakura's smirk turned into a full-on grin. "Want to forget your past completely?"

"...Depends on what you're suggesting." Marik matched his expression with a grin of his own, his golden hair stuck to his forehead as he leaned closer again.

Bakura touched their foreheads together, briefly connecting their lips again but pulling away when Marik pushed for more, his tongue eager to explore Bakura again. Bakura smirked, leaning far enough away to be out of reach. "I am almost sure you're catching my drift."

"Manipulative fucking bitch," Marik hissed, pushing himself to his feet, perfectly steady despite the cloud in his mind, made of lust now as well as alcohol.

Bakura merely laughed at him, jumping down too. They were perfectly matched in height, exactly at each other's eye level as Bakura stared him down. "How well you know me, Marik."

Marik grabbed his shoulders, pulling him in to a long, lip-searing kiss. Bakura responded with a chuckle, licking away at Marik's mouth with surprising eagerness, Marik returning the favour, if a little more sloppily. Bakura soon pulled away, eliciting a low growl from Marik.

Bakura smirked.

Marik felt his own lips tug upwards again. "I didn't realise you were this keen to kiss me again."

"I'm keen to get in your pants," Bakura corrected, his tone as teasing as ever. "There is a difference, you know."

Marik growled, his hands back on Bakura's shoulders, spinning him around so his back hit the bar. "I know," Marik ground out before pressing his mouth to Bakura's again, thrilled when Bakura moaned a little. Pale hands snaked around his waist, pulling them closer together, and Marik gasped at the friction of their lower bodies. He could feel Bakura's hardness, and felt himself grow in response. Bakura chuckled into his mouth, pulling away just enough to mutter into Marik's ear, "I think we should take this back to the flat, don't you?"

By this point, Marik couldn't think of anything better. His fingers grabbed Bakura's wrist and pulled, leading him firmly out of the bar, Bakura's chuckles music to his ears.

As soon as they were through the door and in their tiny hallway, Marik slammed Bakura against a wall and kissed him harshly, his tongue instantly pushing past his lips. Bakura let him explore whilst his hands roamed, finding the hem of Marik's shirt and tugging at the soft material. Marik gasped, faltering slightly when fingers brushed the bare skin of his stomach, and Bakura took advantage of the moment to spin Marik around, taking control of both the kiss and their movements. Marik started when Bakura's tongue wound its way into his mouth, simultaneously removing his jacket. Marik shrugged it off and pressed back eagerly, only for Bakura to pull away, holding him against the wall. Marik mewled slightly, eliciting a dark chuckle from the pale student, who began to work Marik's shirt up his torso. Marik shivered but took the hint, quickly shedding the item before catching Bakura in another kiss, fingers tugging at his black coat. Bakura let him take it off, allowed Marik to press him against the wall again, even letting out a low groan when Marik pulled his shirt off. Both bare-chested, they continued their heated session in the hallway until the hardness in their pants became almost unbearable.

Bakura ripped his head away from Marik, his hands snaking around Marik's hips to grind their pelvises together, growling. Marik's head snapped back at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, waves rushing through his body. Marik pressed back eagerly, moving with Bakura, hands running over his pale chest as they kissed again. Bakura ended it quickly, though, reaching behind him to swing open his bedroom door.

Marik didn't need telling twice.

In no time at all they were both writhing on Bakura's bed, trousers and pants flung haphazardly on the floor. They wrestled back and forth, neither willing to submit, both eager to continue until Marik finally slammed Bakura back into the mattress, not once breaking their kiss as he ground his hips down, making Bakura arch his back, hissing. "God, Marik..."

Marik grinned and repeated the movement, relishing in the groan that pushed through Bakura's reluctant lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were desperate."

Bakura's only response was to growl and pull him back down, grinding up into him. Marik almost lost it right there, the friction unbearable against his hard skin. Bakura noticed and smirked, murmuring, "It would seem I'm not the only desperate one here." Without another word, Bakura reached to the bedside table, retrieving a small bottle. Marik watched curiously as Bakura unscrewed the lid, dipping his fingers in the smooth liquid. Bakura caught his look and laughed. "I guess you have no idea what this is, hm?"

Marik drew his brows together, hating the smug look in Bakura's eyes. The pale student laughed again, leaning up to whisper in Marik's ear, "Just watch and I'm sure you'll get the hang of it."

"I'm not a child," Marik hissed, which only served to make Bakura laugh louder. The pale student reached under himself with a grimace, and Marik watched, fascinated, as he pushed a finger into his asshole. Bakura watched his face as he prepped himself, stretching as much as he could.

"Do you understand what I'm doing?"

Marik nodded, his lips growing into a grin as he grabbed the bottle. "Let me."

Bakura lifted a brow but complied, removing his finger and allowing Marik's to replace it. He hissed when the tan digit first entered him – Marik was a little rough – but as Marik went deeper, adding more fingers, he brushed the spot that had Bakura writhing in pleasure. Marik grinned. "Like that, huh?"

"Shut it," Bakura growled, pulling himself away from Marik and grabbing the bottle, "And get over here."

Marik obediently slid closer, shivering in a mixture of shock and pleasure when Bakura's cold coated hands slid over his erection. Marik shuddered, the movement almost unbearable through the haze of alcohol that still rested over his brain, making every action a mess of hormones and desire. Bakura grinned when Marik groaned, his skilled hand massaging all the right places before he finally let go and lay back. "Get on with it, then."

Marik met his gaze with half lidded eyes, the violet clouded by lust. He quickly lined himself up, fingers digging in to Bakura's shoulders as the pale student wrapped his legs around Marik's waist. Marik took a deep breath, nudging Bakura's opening, before finally plunging in.

Both students let out low moans, Marik lost in the sensation of sudden warmth surrounding him, Bakura adjusting to being filled so completely. Marik couldn't wait for long, moving without warning Bakura and slamming all the way into him. Bakura hissed, crunching into a half-sitting position as Marik pounded into him, finding the spot that had both of them writhing in pleasure. Marik's pace was fast, almost unbearably so, but Bakura couldn't bring himself to care. Marik was lost in sensation, his grip leaving deep marks on Bakura's shoulders, his hips thrusting wildly and erratically the further he went.

Bakura shuddered, his back arching off the bed as Marik drew him ever closer to the edge. Pale fingers grasped his own aching member, stroking in time with Marik's thrusts, send low growls ripping from deep in his throat. Marik was far from thinking straight, lost in a haze of feeling and desire and need, but the sight of Bakura pleasuring himself wasn't enough – Marik needed to be a part of it. All of it.

Bakura growled when tan fingers wrapped around his own, moving in time. Both of them were close already, warmth pooling in their guts and shooting forth, much too soon. Marik released a breathless sigh, collapsing on top of Bakura, shuddering when pale arms slowly held him closer. The feeling was incredible – to be this close to another person, and feel only pleasure, was completely alien to him.

Bakura chuckled into his ear, softly, breathlessly. "Told you you'd forget your past."

Marik moved reluctantly, sliding out and rolling on to the mattress beside Bakura, his bones aching, mind clouded. "Mm ... lucky guess..."

"Of course," Bakura chuckled. Marik shoved him lightly, his eyes sliding closed as he curled up against his side, shivering.

"It's freezing. Don't you have covers?"

"I think you kicked them off," Bakura laughed, sitting up and reaching over Marik to tug them back onto the bed. Marik grabbed them instantly and wrapped them around himself, eliciting another chuckle from Bakura. "They're mine. I don't think it's fair that you get them all."

"Shut up," Marik growled in response, his mind already far towards sleep. Bakura just shook his head, pulling them a little more over the both of them before closing his own eyes. They lay side by side, only touching where necessary, both lost in the haze of the afterglow, too comfortable to move.

It was the first night of undisturbed sleep Marik had experienced since arriving in England.

**Apologies for Kek's OOCness. It is so hard to make him truly psycho in an AU set in modern society whilst keeping it believable. ^_^ Also, I don't drink alcohol, so I was totally making up those parts on the spot. They really won't be accurate. Don't drink alcohol – it is bad for you. XD Please let me know if you spot any typos – it's very late over here, so I have probably missed lots. I will fix them in the morning. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	10. Chapter 10

**Next update is here, at a much more sensible hour haha. It is rather different to the last chapter; there is a lot more angst, and I can't help but feel it's a little dialogue heavy. Still, it was fun to write, so I hope it will be fun to read. XD**

**To guest reviewer Amy: Thank you so much! Next chapter is here haha. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it! ^_^**

**So, anyway, I hope you like this chapter! – Jem**

Marik awoke slowly with the distinct thought that he really wished he was still sleeping.

He was wrapped in something warm, sheets soft under his chin as he turned reluctantly onto his back. As he rose further out of his sleep, Marik became aware of a trickling sound dribbling into his pounding head, soothing the desperate ache pressing on his temples. Marik groaned, refusing to open his eyes. His lids felt gritty.

The trickling stopped, interrupted by a rustle, before a low chord rang back through Marik's head, followed by a long rippling chain of notes. Marik knew that sound, and smiled when he realised that Bakura must be practising. He didn't realise the piano sounded this clear through the wall separating their rooms, though...

Wait...

Marik blinked his eyes open in sudden shock, dread slamming into his gut. Sure enough, he wasn't in his bedroom; the desk was on the wrong side, the floor covered with tatty clothes that Marik knew would never belong to him; the bed was covered in unfamiliar dark sheets, thankfully pulled tight around Marik's completely naked form. Casting worried violet eyes around the room and blinking away the remainder of sleep dust, Marik froze when he looked to the end of the bed and spotted the piano; sat at the stool was a tall, black-coated form, with long pale hair flowing down his back.

Marik dived back under the covers.

He was in Bakura's room. _Bakura's room._ Naked, in Bakura's bed, in Bakura's room. Marik let out a muffled groan, shoving the sheets up to his face to stifle the sound before it could reach Bakura's ears. The piano was still playing, so Marik guessed he had gone unnoticed so far, but Marik was not naive enough to think that he would be able to slip out of this room unnoticed. No doubt Bakura would want to gloat. Marik flipped onto his front, finding the pillow and burying his head deep in the soft feathers, pulling the covers fully over his head and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't believe what had happened. His head was throbbing painfully, sending hazes of red darting across his vision, bringing along with them flashes from the night before. The club, where Kek had abandoned him ... the idiocy of Yami and Tea ... and Bakura, coming along to rescue him...

Lips brushing...

Pale skin ripping beneath tan fingers, dark covers being tossed to the floor...

Marik shuddered and cut the memories off; the aching of his muscles and the oiliness of his skin were tribute enough to what happened next. He really wanted a shower. Getting up would mean facing Bakura, though, and Marik was absolutely loathe to deal with the inevitable bitching that came along with that. Things could not get much worse this morning, although, Marik thought with a certain grim satisfaction, at least Bakura would be the one having trouble walking today.

"So, you're finally awake then."

Marik instantly froze under the covers, his whole body stiffening. The piano was still playing, but the notes became less frequent, and then a dark chuckle sounded through the room. "Come on. I know you're awake under there."

Marik hissed, his fingers fisting in the sheets under the pillow. No way was he getting out of bed with Bakura still in the room.

The piano stopped and footsteps crossed the room. Something was flung on the bed, accompanied by another dark chuckle from Bakura. "You can get dressed under there if you're _uncomfortable._"

Marik growled. "Insufferable bastard."

"Oh, you _do_ speak." There was mirth in Bakura's tone, only serving to increase the anger steadily growing in Marik's stomach. With a low hiss, Marik wriggled under the covers, grabbing the clothes Bakura had tossed him and pulling them on quickly, refusing to surface. He wouldn't give Bakura the satisfaction.

Unfortunately, Bakura had other ideas. As soon as Marik had stopped moving, the covers were tugged from the side and Marik's flushed face was revealed. With a startled squawk, Marik lunged forwards and grabbed the edge of the sheet, tugging it back towards him and trying to bury himself once more, only for Bakura to pull them fully out of his grip, sending Marik tumbling clumsily to the ground. He landed painfully on his side, wincing as the movement sent sharp stabs of pain to the front of his head; he fisted his hands in his hair, tugging the strands in an effort to distract himself. Marik released a long groan.

Laughter sounded from somewhere above him. "God, Ishtar. You're a mess when you're hungover."

"For the last fucking time, my name is _Marik!"_ With another loud groan, Marik rolled onto his front and pressed his face into the sheets on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut. The room was only faintly lit by the small strands of sun that fought their way through Bakura's dark curtains, but it was enough to shoot pinpricks of pain through Marik's eyes. Coupled with the ache pulsing by his temples, all Marik really wanted was to crawl back into bed and stay there, probably forever.

Another low chuckle sounded and something nudged Marik's side. "Much as I'm enjoying the hilarity of this situation, you can't sleep on my floor. Plus, you stink. Go get a shower."

"Only a sadistic bastard like you would find this funny," Marik growled.

Bakura just laughed. "On the contrary. Looking at the state of you, _anyone_ would find this funny."

"Shut the fuck up," Marik growled. "This is all your fucking fault."

Bakura quirked an eyebrow, stepping away from Marik and resting against the wall, crossing his arms. "_My_ fault? And how did you arrive at that conclusion, hm?"

"Of course it's your fault," Marik hissed, clambering awkwardly to his feet with one hand pressed to his throbbing forehead. "You got me drunk and dragged me back here -"

"Dragged you?" Bakura's tone turned dark, his brows furrowing. "As I recall, no dragging was required. You were just as keen as I was. Keener, in fact."

Marik growled, his violet eyes flashing as he glared angrily at Bakura. "I was drunk!"

"Well, at least you're admitting to it this time." Bakura's smirk was back on his face, his dark brown eyes dancing when he ran them over Marik's form. "You really are a mess, you know. If I'd known you'd look like _this_ in the morning, I never would have slept with you."

Marik's back bristled. Resisting the urge to punch Bakura, Marik took a deep, calming breath, allowing his eyes to slide closed before forcing them open again. "I never asked you to. _You_ jumped _me._"

"I think your memory's a little off." Bakura leant his head back against the wall, smug grin spreading across his lips. "_You_ made the first move."

"Because you are fucking manipulative." Marik grabbed his head in his hands, trying to think through the haze of red decorating his vision. Vaguely, he registered that Bakura was right; Marik had kissed him first. But Bakura had just _been there_... "Fuck," Marik mumbled, dropping his hands dejectedly. "I did not want my first time to be like this."

Silence held in the room for a long, heavy moment, and Marik slid his eyes shut. Dark laughter soon cut across his thoughts, forcing his lids open again. Bakura was grinning, but it was wild and feral; Marik did not like it at all.

"Aw, poor little Egyptian." Bakura's tone was teasing, but there was an underlay of venom that Marik hadn't heard from him for a while. "Did you think sex was all about _love_ and _fulfilment_? That couples are meant to kiss and cuddle and live happily ever after without any fights or hurt or anger? Life doesn't work like that, _Ishtar._"

Marik stared at him, his brow creasing. "I'm not a total dumbass. I know it doesn't always work like that. But _I_ didn't want to just have random meaningless sex with the first fucking person who gets me drunk at a bar!"

"I'm sorry to be such a disappointment," Bakura spat, his jaw set and his brows heavy over his eyes. "And I didn't get you drunk – you did that all by yourself."

"You took advantage," Marik growled. His knees shook a little as he shifted his weight, brushing sticky blond bangs out of his eyes as he glared at Bakura. He hated this situation, hated the anger flashing in Bakura's eyes, hated the way his heart was racing and his head was pounding, and all he wanted was to _get out of there._ He took a shaky step forwards, only for Bakura to throw an arm out to stop him, his eyes boring straight through Marik's skull.

"Is that what you really think?"

Marik couldn't place Bakura's tone; it was laced with the ever-present anger, but underneath that was something else, something Marik couldn't fathom. He was too tired for Bakura's games.

"Let me go," Marik mumbled, attempting to walk forwards again, but Bakura caught his sleeve and held him firmly in place, ignoring Marik's struggles and protests.

"Do you really think," Bakura hissed, his eyes dark slits set deep in his face, "That I took advantage? You practically threw yourself at me, Marik! What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"You could have said no!" Marik flung the words out without stopping to think them through, his desperation to be out of this conversation the predominate thought in his head. There wasn't room for anything else. He just wanted out. "You could have just left me the fuck alone, and then we wouldn't be in this mess. But no, you had to fucking use me for your own fucking desires with no mind to how _I_ might be feeling, you just carried on as if what _you_ wanted was the only thing that mattered, like you always do. You treat me like your fucking slave as it is. You don't care what other people might want, as long as you get what you want, and I'm fucking sick of it. Now _let me go._"

Bakura's face was white and drawn with fury, his grip painfully tight on Marik's arm, his dark eyes burning ferociously. Marik glared right back at him, his own violet eyes flashing, his mouth a thin line. Silence held between them for a long moment, neither backing down, until Bakura finally thrust Marik away from him with a furious snarl.

"Fine then, _Ishtar,_" Bakura spat. "Get the hell out of here. I'm fucking sick of you."

Marik turned on him. "_You're_ sick of _me_? You're the one whose fault this is! I did absolutely nothing wrong..."

"You call getting drunk and fucking me, and then hating every second of it in the morning, '_nothing'_?" Bakura questioned harshly, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the tension in his shoulders betraying his true fury.

Marik glared right back. "You know full well that I had no control over myself."

"Seemed like you did to me, _Ishtar_," Bakura growled. "I didn't fucking force you."

"You manipulated!" Marik yelled. "You manipulated, like you _always_ do, and I can't -"

Bakura interrupted, his jaw set. "Always? Like when?"

"Like calling me by my fucking surname although you know I hate that, and always being around when I don't want you anywhere near me, and calming me down when I'm upset and angry and playing the damn piano so well that I start to think we might actually be getting along, and then you go and do something like _this_ and I know you were just playing me the whole time, and I have _had enough._" Marik fumed, drawing deep breaths into his lungs, ignoring the flash of something foreign that crossed Bakura's features. "I don't fucking care what you think, and I sure as hell know that you don't give a damn about me. So just stay the fuck away from me until I can find a flat of my own."

Bakura's expression remained stoical when Marik finished; the only part of him betraying emotion were those burning brown eyes. His tone, when he spoke, was dark and dripping with something that Marik couldn't place. "What makes you think I'm going to just let you leave?"

Marik was brought up short, his eyes momentarily widening. Bakura glared back, his features dropping into a scowl. "You don't call the shots here, Ishtar – I do. And you are going to do as I say."

"Like hell I am," Marik hissed.

Bakura snarled, his lip curling, and Marik actually took a step back. Bakura advanced, his features set in a deep frown, forcing Marik to backtrack with fast steps, cursing under his breath when his back met the wall and Bakura was still coming closer with those dangerous brown eyes. Bakura leaned over him, pale fist landing on the wall above his head and Marik's skin crawled, his expression defiant. He needed to get out, he had to get away because Bakura was leaning closer...

A fist hitting cheap wood sounded from the hallway.

A knock at the door.

Bakura growled, low in his throat, and Marik's heart stopped beating. They continued glaring, at perfect eye-level with each other, Bakura half-bent over Marik before he flung himself away and hissed, "Go answer the door."

Marik, for once, didn't argue in his rush to get out of Bakura's room. He fled through the door without a backwards glance, slamming it pointedly shut behind him, uncaring as to whether or not Bakura tried to follow him. Marik averted his eyes from Bakura's long black coat, sprawled in the corridor along with Marik's thin jacket, pushing back the memories of the previous night as he flung the door open.

Marik groaned when he saw who was leering at him.

"Marik! That isn't any way to greet your cousin, now is it?" Kek's grin stretched, splitting his face in half as he took in Marik's rather dishevelled appearance. "You look a mess. Did you actually manage to get laid last night? Because I know I promised to leave you alone about Bakura, but honestly, it's too much fun to see you getting so wound up..."

"Shut the fuck up." Marik attempted to slam the door right in his face, only for Kek to catch it with one large hand. Marik growled and stalked away from the door, heading straight for the kitchen. His throat was parched.

Kek tilted his head, confusion covering his features at Marik's strange behaviour. Entering the kitchen behind him, Kek crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching as his cousin downed a glass of water before pouring himself another one. "Alright, Marik, spill. What's got into you?"

Marik took another long draft of water, setting the glass carefully on the counter before resting his elbows beside it and burying his head in his hands. His whole body cowed in on itself, his bones folding as he shook a little. He had never felt so pathetic. Marik's head was pounding, his eyes gritty and sore, his throat aching and his hair sticky. The last thing he needed to deal with was Kek's teasing.

Footsteps crossed the kitchen and Kek laid one hand on his cousin's arm. "I'm serious, Marik. What's going on?"

"I think I could tell you that."

Marik groaned and sank further onto the counter at the all-too-familiar dark voice that sounded from the doorway. Kek looked between Marik and Bakura, taking in their dishevelled appearances and the obvious tension in the room, and his face cracked into a wide grin. "Have you two finally fucked?"

Marik winced, his hands curling into fists, and Bakura hissed. His brown eyes were still burning. Kek missed the negative reactions, though, breaking into loud laughter. "Oh, Gods, _finally_. When I told you to pull, Marik, I didn't necessarily mean Bakura. I thought you were trying to prove you _didn't_ want to get with him?"

"Shut the fuck up!" Marik wrenched away from the counter, fixing his cousin with the darkest glare he could manage. "If you hadn't fucking abandoned me, this would never have happened."

"And of course, it's everybody else's fault," Bakura spat from his corner.

Marik turned on him. "Don't you fucking start again."

"You need to accept some responsibility here, Ishtar," Bakura growled.

Marik seethed, but Kek laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I got this." Turning to Bakura, Kek couldn't hold back another grin. "Kaiba is going to be in stitches when he sees the state of you."

Marik's head shot round to stare at his cousin. Kaiba? How the hell did Kek know that name?

Bakura snorted, the sound lacking its usual sarcasm. "Good job I'm not seeing him today then."

"You are," Kek corrected, his grin widening. "He wants to see all of us; told me to pass on the message. That's why I'm here, he wants us there as fast as we can so we should probably go..."

"Fine, I'm coming," Bakura snapped, pushing himself off the wall and crossing to the sink. "Just let me eat something. _That_ one snores, so I hardly got a wink of sleep."

Marik looked between Kek and Bakura, too confused to even rise to Bakura's comment. Kaiba wanted to see Bakura and Kek? What was going on here? Marik's head was still throbbing as he tried to join the dots, glaring harshly at his cousin. "Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?"

Kek's grin didn't falter as he gestured to Bakura, who rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure, let's give Marik another reason to scream at me."

"I'm not screaming," Marik hissed, his voice dangerously low. "Tell me what the fuck you're talking about."

Bakura sighed loudly, finishing Marik's water and ignoring his death glare before crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly on the floor, his chin tilted at an arrogant angle. "I gave Kek a job. Well, Kaiba did, at my recommendation, and now we've got a meeting. You may as well come along, I don't want you alone in the flat."

"Like fuck." Marik growled, his hands curling into fists. This explained Kek's fancy apartment, but Marik felt inherently betrayed – how could his cousin agree to work with someone that he knew Marik hated? And behind Marik's back, no less! Marik could feel hot anger coursing through his veins, his ability to control his emotions distinctly lacking as he started to speak again. "Gods, I should have known. I can't rely on _anyone_ in this fucking country." Marik ignored the questioning stare from his cousin and turned to exit the kitchen. More than anything now, he was tired, and he didn't want to shout anymore. He just wanted to curl up in some dark corner and never leave.

Unfortunately, Bakura had other ideas.

Just as Marik made it to the door, a pale hand wrapped around his arm and swung him firmly back around. Marik cursed, pulling away, but Bakura's grip was tight and his eyes were still burning. "I am not leaving you alone here," he growled, ignoring Marik's protests. "You'll destroy the flat, knowing you. Get some proper clothes on and come with me."

"Like hell!" Marik wrenched himself free and glared between Bakura and his cousin. "I want no part in whatever the fuck you two conniving bastards are coming up with."

Bakura hissed. "You're not staying -"

"No," Marik cut in, his tone dangerously cold. "I'm not." Without a second glance, Marik spun on his heel and exited the kitchen, heading out of the flat as fast as he could.

...

It was freezing.

Rain drove down from the overcast sky, hard pellets of water striking wherever they saw fit and instantly soaking anyone and anything caught in their path. The droplets bounced off the cement of the pavement, pooling in harsh puddles between the cracks of the tiles, running along the dark grey stone and dripping ceaselessly onto the tarmac road. Everything about this city was grey, the bright neon lights from the night before barely a memory, the electricity deadened in the soaking wet air. Marik paced the streets with his light jacket clutched tightly around him, inadequate hood pulled over most of his wild blonde hair, the rain running in two streams from the tip of his hood past his eyes. He flicked the water away with an irritated swipe of his hand, soaked to the bone and shivering, but it was better out here than in that flat.

Marik had lost track of how long he'd been walking, the sun too deeply hidden for him to have any true sense of time. His feet were aching, his hands two frozen appendages on the ends of his arms, his body wracked with shivers and covered in goosebumps. Marik paid no attention, though. His mind was too firmly fixed on anger, hurt, and shame.

He couldn't stay in that flat. Marik knew for sure now that any further contact with Bakura would end in disaster and the sooner he was away from that arrogant bastard, the better. Frustration rose in his gut at the thought, but Marik knew he had to be sensible; with Bakura's mind games and masterful manipulation, Marik knew that he would go crazy if he had to stay there for any longer. He would talk to the Accommodation Officer again and demand that list of free flats – it was well into November, after all, there had to be somewhere he could move. Two months living with Bakura was enough for anyone.

Marik kicked angrily at the stone as his thoughts returned to his pale flatmate. He had actually started to believe that living with Bakura was a possibility – that some aspects of it could even be _nice._ Falling asleep to the sounds of the piano every night was something exceedingly pleasant, and Marik had to admit that as much as Bakura's sarcastic comments wound him up, he enjoyed needling Bakura in return, their arguments more often than not making him laugh. Not like this morning's.

Marik winced when he remembered the harsh words flung between them both. That look Bakura had given him, his dark eyes burning, his face whiter than Marik had ever seen it before, the tendons in his hands standing out as his fingers clenched into fists ... Marik shuddered just at the memory. No one had ever looked at him with such _hatred _before. Marik felt sick to his stomach, remembering how different Bakura had looked the previous night, writhing beneath him with such a look of ecstasy...

Marik wrenched his mind out of the gutter, seething. Bakura was a manipulative ass.

The rain forced Marik's clothes to stick to his body, freezing his already cold form right down to the bones. Marik shivered, teeth chattering; his fingers were numb. He had never been this cold. Drawing in a shaky breath, Marik decided it would probably be sensible to start getting back to the flat – he must have been out for hours, and it was really unpleasant out here. Marik's head was a little clearer, the throbbing behind his temples lessened with the freezing air. He walked with hurried steps back through the city, entering the warmth of his block and shaking his head, the saturated hood falling back from his golden locks. Marik waited for the lift this time, his frozen limbs complaining, his arms wrapped tightly around his dripping torso. The journey up to the sixth floor seemed to take much longer than Marik remembered, serving only to increase the trepidation Marik could feel pooling in his gut. He really didn't want to have to deal with Bakura again.

The lift doors opened and Marik stepped out, nibbling his lower lip nervously. The flat door looked innocently up at him, his keys a familiar weight in his hand. Marik just stopped and stared at the wood for a while.

_Perhaps Bakura is out,_ Marik tried to reassure himself. _Whatever business he and Kek had with Kaiba sounded fairly urgent. They might not be back yet._ Still, it was several more minutes before Marik finally worked up the courage to turn the key in the lock and push the door open.

He knew Bakura was in from the moment he entered. The long black coat was gone from the hall and trickles of piano music drifted through the air, the notes agitated and angry, crashing chords and dissonant harmonies weaving a complex web in Marik's head. He closed his eyes, sighing, but at least if Bakura was practising then he shouldn't want to start another argument.

Marik took a step down the hallway and the music faltered slightly. Marik froze, his heart in his mouth, as silence rang through the air; the moment could have lasted an age. Marik swallowed, a little ashamed of the relief that washed through his veins when the piano sounded once again. He continued on down the hallway, entering his own room, his hair still dripping.

Marik spent the afternoon quietly, keeping to himself. He jumped into the shower as fast as he could, washing the last evidence of the previous night from his skin and feeling much better afterwards. Whilst he waited for his hair to dry, Marik sat at his desk and drew mindlessly, not really paying attention to the doodles he scratched into the paper with harsh, dark strokes of his pencil. The piano was an ever-present companion, the soft trickles through his ears reminder enough that all was not well in this flat. Marik knew he would have to run into Bakura again at some point, but for just then, he was content enough to lock himself away in his room and draw.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts momentarily and Marik froze, his pencil coming to a halt on the fresh page he was marking. He didn't really want to have to answer with the state he was in, and it was probably nothing important – Bakura could get it for once. Sure enough, after a few minutes and another soft knock, the piano stopped playing and footsteps echoed through the flat. Marik went back to scratching at his page, cocking one ear more out of habit than any interest.

"Hello, Bakura."

Marik's eyebrows shot up in shock. That sounded like ... but why would he be coming here? Moving with a fluid grace, Marik slipped to his door and pressed his ear to the wood, peering through the peephole with narrowed eyes. Bakura was clearly visible, long white hair falling in a tangled mess down his back, and Marik had to suppress a shudder as he remembered what those strands had felt like under his tan fingers. Bakura's shoulders were tensed, his hands curled into fists by his sides, his tone dark when he spoke. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I need to talk to you."

Marik definitely recognised that voice. Before he could think better of it, Marik pulled his door open and stepped out into the hallway, ignoring Bakura's dark glare as he looked past the pale student's thin, angry form. "Yami? What are you doing here?"

The spiky-haired student met Marik's eyes with a small smile, his brow creased slightly. "I need to discuss something with Bakura."

"Do I finally get to find out why he hates you so much?" Marik took a step closer, ignoring Bakura's snarl despite the goosebumps it raised on his bare arms.

Yami's expression closed. He swallowed once. "I think that's up to Bakura," he responded stiffly, keeping his back straight as he turned back to the music student. "Look, I need to talk to you about Ryou. Yugi tells me that my grandfather's getting ill, he's going to need full-time care soon and he won't be able to keep caring for them. Ryou said he would ring you about this – has he got in touch? What are you going to do?"

Marik's eyes widened in surprise, his jaw dropping as he stared at Yami. Bakura growled before he could say anything, muttering, "It isn't any of your business, _Yami_, as you know better than anyone."

"Look," Yami continued patiently. "I know you don't like me, and you have every reason not to, but you need to start taking responsibility for your brother."

"Don't you dare tell me what I need to do," Bakura hissed, advancing one threatening step.

Yami held his ground, his eyes clear. "Call Ryou. You need to talk to him."

Bakura stayed silent, his eyes burning as they fixed on Yami. Marik frowned, edging closer still and catching Yami's arm. "I presume Ryou is Bakura's brother? Because I've walked in on Bakura yelling down the phone at someone plenty of times this week, so I guess -"

"_Shut it, Ishtar."_

Marik jumped at the venom-laced words, ripped as they were through Bakura's gritted teeth and thin lips. That dark brown glare was turned on Marik now, searing straight through his head with a hatred Marik had never felt before. The sheer force of it drove him back a step.

Yami looked between them, frown deepening. "Bakura, if Ryou's already tried calling you then you have got to get back to him. He needs you."

"I don't fucking care," Bakura growled. He wrenched his gaze away from Marik, advancing instead on Yami with hatred marring his features. "Get out of my flat."

Yami shook his head, his eyes almost disappointed as he watched Bakura's approach. "I feel sorry for Ryou. He needs you, but you aren't man enough to step up and help him."

"I am giving you fair warning." Bakura's tone was flat and expressionless, frighteningly cold. "If you aren't out of here in three seconds, I won't be responsible for my actions."

Yami sighed, backing up with raised hands, his features still pitying. "Alright. I'm going home over Christmas with Tea, we're going to try and take care of grandpa, but if he keeps getting worse then you're going to have to find somewhere else for Ryou to stay. I'm just passing on the message." With a last nod in Marik's direction, Yami turned and exited the flat, the door closing behind him with a sense of finality.

Tense silence held through the hall once he had left. Marik watched Bakura warily, noting the way the pale student's features fell back into a stoical expression, the only sign of his emotions the deep burning of his brown eyes. Marik swallowed, licking his dry lips. "...Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

A snarl was all the response Marik got, but he pushed on regardless; he was fed up of just being treated like nothing by Bakura. "Sounds like you need to give your brother a call."

"Oh, really?" Bakura sneered, turning his dark frown on Marik. "Well, guess I'll just fucking call him then. Let's see how well that goes, shall we?" With an almost sadistic smirk, far removed from the smug look Marik had woken up to that morning, Bakura whipped his phone out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons, flinging it almost violently to his ear. Marik felt trepidation pool in his gut, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Tension built in the air between them as they waited for the person on the other end of the line to pick up. Marik could hear faint noises, but no distinct words, not that it really mattered; the sneer twisting Bakura's lips told him all he needed to know.

"Why, hello there, dearest brother. I've just had a delightful visit from my good friend Yami. Care to tell me what your problem is?"

Marik winced at the sarcasm weighing heavily on Bakura's tone, hardly surprised when the voice at the other end of the line sounded like muffled shouts. Bakura rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, cutting across the noise with a heavy sigh. "If you're just going to whine, I'm hanging up. Now, listen here – I don't give a damn what you do, but whatever situation you find yourself in, stay out of my way. I don't want to hear from you anymore, and I don't need Yami whining at me because you've been complaining at Yugi. Shut it, Ryou – I don't want to hear it. My position is perfectly clear. You are nothing to do with me. Have a nice life." The phone was disconnected and back in Bakura's pocket in no time, the pale student apparently perfectly calm except for those still burning eyes. "There. Happy now, Ishtar? Get out of my way."

Marik stared with wide eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He had known Bakura could be rude, but to talk like that to his own _brother..._

The guy had serious problems.

Bakura sighed loudly, tapping his foot with impatience decorating his tone. "Ishtar. Move. I want to get into my room."

Marik blinked, shaking his head. "...I can't believe you just did that."

"You asked me to call him, so I did," Bakura struggled to keep his tone even. "Now get out of my fucking way."

"That was your brother! Your own brother, and you're just abandoning him!" Shock was apparent in Marik's voice as he turned on Bakura.

Bakura hissed. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I know what that just sounded like," Marik disagreed, feeling anger course through his veins. "You can't just strand your brother like that – Yami said he needs you, you can't give up on him..."

"Ishtar," Bakura interrupted. His nostrils were flaring, his face absolutely white, his lips drawn into a thin line. "I suggest you stop talking right now, before I do something I will regret."

Marik scoffed. "Oh, because it's perfectly fine for you to stick your nose in _my_ family business, but I'm not allowed to comment on yours? Yeah, that's fair."

"Shut. Up."

Marik ignored him. "Gods, and I thought _I_ had a crappy family. At least I have siblings who actually give a damn about me. I feel very sorry for your brother if the only person he's got to rely on is _you_ – you're quite clearly worthless."

Marik had gone too far.

Bakura moved before Marik had any chance of reacting, slamming into Marik with enough force to send him tumbling to the ground. Bakura didn't leave it there, though; he swiftly rolled Marik onto his front, gripping his arms and pulling them round behind his back, twisting them painfully. Marik grunted, his eyes watering as he shifted and kicked but Bakura was too fast, straddling Marik's backside with ease whilst keeping his arms in an iron grip. Bakura dug his elbow into the crook of Marik's neck, digging in to the pressure point and causing Marik to let out a very undignified squeal. Bakura didn't release him as he leaned closer, his lips hissing poison into Marik's ear.

"Don't push your luck, Ishtar," Bakura growled, ignoring Marik's weak struggles as he held him fast into the carpet. "I've been soft on you so far, but don't think you can threaten me."

Marik snarled, bucking underneath him only for Bakura to tighten his legs and increase the pressure on his arms. Marik bit the carpet to hold back his scream of pain.

"I mean it, Ishtar," Bakura hissed, his cool breath searing Marik's earlobe. "_Don't_ push your luck."

Marik writhed in fury, hating the way Bakura had trapped him so effectively, hating being at the mercy of someone so vindictive. He twisted his head just enough to spit out a retort. "At least I can still walk straight today, _Touzoku_."

Bakura slammed his head back into the carpet, ignoring Marik's hiss of pain. He didn't say anything more, giving Marik's arms a final twist before releasing him, stamping once on his hand for good measure. Marik lay there, panting as he tried to regain feeling in his arms, forcing himself into a painful sitting position. Bakura was long gone, of course. Marik allowed his eyes to slide shut, his back falling into place against the wall, shaking his arms out by his sides to rid them of the pins and needles racing through his blood. It had been a while since he had angered Bakura enough to cause a physical attack.

Marik drew in a shaky breath. His headache was back, his muscles tired and aching, and all Marik wanted to do was crawl between his own sheets. He resolved to talk to the Accommodation Officer tomorrow, to make sure he was getting a flat of his own – there was no way he was staying with Bakura after this.

**So, yeah, sorry about that angsty chapter. Tuesday's one should make everything a bit clearer, hopefully, so bear with me. ^_^ Huge thanks to everyone reading/reviewing/faving/following, I'm really grateful. XD I hope you enjoyed this update! - Jem**


	11. Chapter 11

**So yeah, angst last chapter. ^_^ This one is mostly a continuation, but I hope that things should become clearer. Thanks to everyone reviewing/reading/following/favouriting, as ever I am eternally grateful! XD**

**This chapter is dedicated to FanGirl16. I sincerely hope it cheers you up, and I shall always be here. Love you very much and I hope this update pleases you.**

**I would also just like to reiterate that 'Kek' is NOT a name I came up with for Yami Marik. I stole it from Miss Macabre Grey (with her permission) and much as I would love to claim credit for it, it is hers, not mine. Just wanted to be absolutely clear. ^_^ This is a Miss Macabre Grey appreciation post. I love her, and she's amazing, and she never fails to make me smile and help me be motivated to write this thing. So, thank you, Grey, and you should all go read her awesome stories, because she is a wonderful writer!**

**I hope you all enjoy this update! – Jem.**

The next week was one of the worst of Marik's entire life.

Bakura had been so violent and furious after the phone call to his brother that Marik made sure to stay well out of his way, spending as little time actually in the flat as he possibly could. As a result, Marik found himself much more involved in college work than he had ever planned to be, often spending hours at a time in the university library between his lectures and seminars and when he didn't have any work to do he would simply pull out his notepad and start sketching, usually dark, angry images full of dark scratches and deep shading. The grades on his essays immediately improved; a fact that did not go unnoticed by his classmates, much to Marik's chagrin.

He was seated in the library after a morning lecture, tucked away in a corner with his notepad open in front of him, embellishing a dark sketch full of shadows and creatures, when Yami and Tea cornered him. Footsteps approached behind him and Marik's head shot up. He struggled to refrain a groan at the sight of them.

"Hey, Marik!" Tea pulled up a chair next to him, Yami sitting on his other side, effectively trapping him. Tea smiled. "We haven't spoken to you in a while. How are you doing?"

Marik sent her his best attempt at a grin, although it was hardly a twitch of his downturned lips. "I've been just fine, thank you," he replied through gritted teeth.

"Well, we don't really believe that." Tea's smile dipped, her blue eyes clouding with concern as she looked him over. "You've been spending so much time in here recently, we're worried you haven't even been eating!"

Marik held back a snappy retort about how it wasn't any of her business, instead attempting to look pleased that she was concerned. "Oh, no, I'm alright. Bakura's been getting on my nerves, that's all."

"Is it because of Ryou?" Yami's quiet voice, laced with seriousness, cut through their conversation and Marik turned, a little startled. Yami was looking at him with dark, calm eyes, although there was an implacable emotion behind them.

Marik chewed his lip. "He's definitely been worse since you came around and made him speak to his brother. What's going on there? Why does Bakura hate his brother and you so much?"

"Bakura doesn't _hate_ Ryou." Yami's brows furrowed as he tilted his head slightly, his eyes growing far away. "They haven't always got along, but he doesn't _hate_ him..."

Marik scoffed, shaking his head as he thought back. Bakura's tone had been venomous, dark, and chilling when he was on the phone to his brother, and he had attacked Marik afterwards for even asking for the tiniest amount of detail. "Yami, I hate to contradict you, but to me it certainly sounded as if Bakura hated his brother."

"No, that can't be right." Yami pursed his lips. "What makes you think he does?"

Marik couldn't hold back a grimace. "Bakura called his brother right after you left our flat and told him he never wanted to see him again."

"What?!" Tea jumped in, her blue eyes wide as she turned them on Yami, completely ignoring Marik. "I thought you said Ryou was relying on him?"

Yami nodded, his gaze clouding. "He is. He doesn't have anyone else. If Bakura won't accept responsibility, though, I don't know what we're going to do..."

"Bakura will have to." Tea's tone grew defiant. "You can't worry about Ryou as well as Yugi and your grandpa."

Yami's eyes closed. "I know. But if that's the case, neither Ryou nor Bakura is going to be happy."

"That isn't your problem." Tea leaned across the table, right across Marik, and clasped Yami's hand tightly. "You've got to take care of your family first."

Yami's eyes opened and he sent Tea a gentle smile, squeezing her hand lightly. "As ever, you're right. Thank you, Tea."

She positively glowed, beaming across the table, and Marik glared between the two of them. The way they were looking at each other was almost sickening. "Alright, cut it out, you two. What the hell is going on here?"

Yami jumped, keeping his hand firmly in Tea's as he turned with a grin to Marik. "That's right – you've been so busy that we've hardly seen you this week. Tea and I are officially together now."

Tea nodded her agreement with a beam lighting up her face, her blue eyes shining as she turned them on Marik. "Yes, we've finally decided to make it public. We'd rather you didn't spread it around too much, though – dealing with Joey's teasing is bad enough..."

Marik held up a hand, unable to hide the grimace on his features. Spotting Yami's expectant look, though, Marik forced a smile onto his face and released a small laugh, his fists clenching under the table. "Oh, um, well, that's great and all, but I was actually asking about Bakura. What were you guys talking about, saying he has to take responsibility for his brother?"

Yami's expression immediately closed. Tea bit her lip, her gaze fixed on Yami's face, her brows drawn tightly together. Marik looked between them, his knee jigging impatiently as he attempted to wait, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. Yami didn't look at either of them, his gaze lowering to glare at the table, his brows furrowing together as he pursed his lips. Marik ran out of patience. "Come on, Yami! What the hell is going on? I have to live with Bakura, I have a right to know."

Yami remained stubbornly silent and Marik growled. Tea sighed, gently resting her fingers on Marik's wrist as she leaned closer. "He won't tell me either, Marik. All I know is his grandpa's ill, so he might not be able to care for Yugi and Ryou for much longer."

"Why is Bakura's brother even staying with Yami's grandpa in the first place?" Marik frowned, trying to work it out. It didn't make any sense – all the hints Marik had picked up on Bakura's past pointed to him fending for himself, as his parents were dead; he had even claimed to live on the streets at one point, for crying out loud. Surely if a loss like that happened in a family, it would draw siblings closer together, not pull them apart. That's what had happened in Marik's family, anyway. _Well, I thought it did,_ Marik scoffed to himself. _Ishizu and Odion are closer than ever, but me? I get chucked to another country as fast as they possibly can. Maybe it isn't so impossible for Bakura to hate his brother, after all._

"Marik?"

With a wrench Marik pulled himself back to the present, his fists clenched on the table and his violet eyes dark and heavy. Tea was sending him a concerned stare. "Are you alright?"

"Just fine." His teeth were gritted, his tone harsh and unforgiving.

Yami pulled out of his own reverie, shooting Marik a concerned frown. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Marik stood up abruptly, pulling his chair away from the table and clambering to his feet, grabbing his notebook. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine." He could sense their disbelieving stares. Determinedly ignoring them, Marik bent down and fished his bag out from under the desk, stretching forwards, his top riding up slightly.

There was a shocked gasp.

"...Marik. Marik, oh God, what's that on your back?"

Marik's fingers closed around the strap of his bag and he shot upright, instantly pulling his shirt back down. Tea's blue eyes were full of shock and revulsion, her mouth slightly agape, her lips twisted in horror. Yami was by her side, his pale skin even paler than usual as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his lips pressed together in a drawn frown.

There was a weighty silence.

Tea spoke first. "What ... Marik, what on earth happened to you?"

"Nothing," Marik spat, edging away instantly. His shirt scratched against his marred skin and he winced, burning pain flaring in a couple of the scars, although he fought to keep his expression stoical.

Yami shook his head, disgust evident in his tone. "That wasn't nothing. You had ... there were _scars..."_

Marik flinched at the absolute loathing lacing Yami's tone. He always knew his scars were a disfigurement; they were ugly and loathsome and it was only right for them to be treated with revulsion and hatred. But for some reason, each hideous reaction from Yami and Tea sent stabs down Marik's back. He looked between them, his brows heavy and his jaw set, before he deliberately shoved his notebook in his bag and turned on his heel.

"Marik, wait!" Tea's shout only served to make Marik's footsteps speed up as he hastened out of the library. A gentle grip on his arm had him whirling around, wrenching free despite Tea's pleas. "Marik, please, they looked really painful – you should get them seen to..."

"Shut the fuck up," Marik hissed. His hands balled into fists by his sides as he fixed Tea with a glare, Yami hovering hesitantly behind her. "Shut the fuck up, and leave me the fuck alone."

Tea swallowed, edging back a step, and Marik span with a growl to leave the library. His back burned worse with each step, fiery heat searing along his shoulder blades. He screwed up his face in pain, rushing out into the cold rain as fast as he could and darting into a slim alley away from the crowds. Marik released a low growl as he pressed his palms into the brick of one wall, his fingertips digging painfully into the cracks in the mortar as his eyes squeezed shut, his body bending and creasing in pain. He took deep breaths, holding back the onslaught of memories that threatened behind his eyelids; this was not a good place to have a breakdown. Knives, lamps, and tombs flitted across Marik's mind's eye and he wacked his forehead into the wall, growling loudly in an effort to distract himself. What had he done last time he broke down? Oh, of course, he had been speaking to Bakura then and the pale music student had been there to stop him destroying the kitchen too much.

Not anymore.

Marik threw himself into the wall again when another shudder wracked down his spine, sending hot flares of pain shooting down his back. The scars were burning; in a desperate bid to cool them Marik tugged on the hem of his shirt, lifting it up to his shoulders and allowing the water to caress his scars. Droplets of rain collected in the marred skin, sending sharp hisses slipping through Marik's teeth, but the itching calmed slightly. Marik rested his forehead against the wall and took deep breaths, his hands shaking, his body trembling. He couldn't believe this was happening again.

"...Marik?"

At first, he thought the new voice was Yami, come to check on him. Marik didn't have the strength to move away from the wall, the water cool and calming as it dripped down his sore back; instead, he allowed the footsteps to edge closer, paying them no mind. It wasn't until the voice spoke again that he finally recognised it.

"You're a mess. You should come back to the flat."

Marik ripped away from the wall with a snarl, his shirt instantly sliding back down as he turned on the newcomer. Sure enough, white hair dripped down a long black coat, damp from the rain, and deep brown eyes looked out from deathly pallid features. Bakura was tense, his hands curled into fists by his sides, but his gaze was more searching than angry as he took in Marik's form.

Marik groaned, backing away a couple of steps. "Oh, fucking perfect. The last person in the world I wanted to see."

The skin around Bakura's eyes tightened a little, but he otherwise ignored the comment. "What happened?"

"I am _fine,_" Marik spat, edging back another couple of steps. "Leave me the fuck alone."

Bakura couldn't hold back a snort. "Like hell you are." He advanced fluidly, ignoring Marik's warning snarl, and gripped onto Marik's shoulders, spinning him around. Marik instantly attempted to wriggle away but Bakura held him fast, muttering, "Don't make me fight you again," as he lifted the hem of Marik's shirt. Marik yelped and wriggled when cold fingers touched the scars, and Bakura tutted into his ear. "These are bleeding, idiot. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Maybe if _you _stopped feeling the need to fight me every two seconds, I wouldn't have to," Marik hissed back, still attempting to wriggle out of Bakura's grip.

Bakura sighed loudly, tightening his one-handed grip around Marik's wrists and shoving him forwards, albeit more gently than usual. "I wouldn't have to keep fighting you if you actually behaved yourself for once."

"I don't have to do whatever you want!" Marik gave up on struggling and took to verbal abuse instead, flinching every time Bakura's fingers brushed his scars. "I didn't even do anything to you. I asked a perfectly civil question about your brother and you completely flew off the fucking handle."

Bakura growled, his grip tightening almost painfully around Marik's wrists as he continued dragging a finger down his scars. "Shut up and keep still."

"That's what I mean. You think you have the right to tell me what to do, and you get all _pissed -_" Marik drew in a sharp breath, wincing when Bakura's finger met one of the bloodied wounds, "- when I don't immediately do it. I'm not your fucking slave, Bakura."

"I never said you were." Bakura's voice was carefully neutral, but Marik could hear the anger throbbing behind it.

Marik hissed as Bakura kept working at his back. "Sure, never in those exact words, but the minute I turn around and ask you something remotely personal you flip."

"It's none of your business," Bakura snarled.

Marik scoffed. "And _my_ life story _was_ your business? I've been completely open with you, and you have told me _nothing_ in return! Hell, I didn't even know you had a brother until Yami let it slip!"

The hands finally left Marik's back and Bakura span him back around, his brown eyes burning again as he fixed Marik with a glare. "Don't mention that name."

"Oh, yeah, that's another thing!" Marik got right in Bakura's face, his violet eyes narrowed and flashing with fury. "You won't tell me why you hate Yami, either. Or why your brother is staying with his family instead of yours."

Bakura's glare hardened. He tossed his next words through closed lips. "You know my family is dead."

"You told me you're an orphan, yes." Marik drew in a calming breath, still tense as he kept at perfect eye-level with Bakura. "But you have a brother. A living brother who, by the sounds of it, needs your help. Which you won't give him."

Bakura's expression didn't change as he stared Marik down. The moment could have lasted an age as the two remained perfectly fixated on each other, brown on violet in a darkened alley in the middle of a rainy, dreary city. Bakura remained close-lipped, so in the end Marik heaved a sigh, breaking eye contact first. "See? I knew you would never tell me anything."

Something foreign crossed Bakura's face. "Why do you even care?"

"What?" Marik started, his eyes widening as he whipped around to meet Bakura's gaze.

Bakura took a single step forwards, effectively closing the distance between them as he asked again, "Why the sudden fascination with my life? It affects you in no way whatsoever. Why do you care what I do?"

Marik swallowed, backing up a step as the question washed over him. Fear gripped his stomach when he realised he had no answer. "I just – I – I don't know, I'm just interested!" Sensing Bakura's self-satisfied smirk, Marik continued quickly, jabbing a finger in Bakura's direction, "Why were _you_ interested in _my_ life? You had no reason to be, either!"

"Please," Bakura scoffed, smirk defined by his lips now. "You were blatantly obvious about it. I guessed most of it before you told me, and it _did_ become my business when Kek might have been staying in our flat. No, _Ishtar_, my reasons for wanting to know more about you make perfect sense, but why would you want to know about me? I still haven't had a satisfactory answer."

Marik spluttered, backing up further as Bakura edged closer. "I – it's to – to repay the favour! You know all about me, it's only fair I get something in return. You're a thief; you should understand that."

"But you already have something in return," Bakura countered, amusement lighting his tone now. "You know that my parents are dead, that I steal for a living; I've even let you in my room and let you play my piano. That is repayment enough, no?"

Marik backed up further, his gut clenching when his back met the wall. Bakura's eyes were dancing as he sidled closer still, grin stretching his lips wide, teeth glistening in the darkness of the alley as he leaned right over Marik, who slid down the wall. "So, come on, Ishtar. _Spill_."

Marik's mind raced. What on earth could he say? Bakura's brown eyes were fixated on his face, that arrogant smirk making Marik's heart race the closer it got, sending shivers tingling down his spin. Marik knew he couldn't tell Bakura the truth – Marik wasn't even entirely sure what the truth was himself. He knew that something about Bakura inexplicably attracted and intrigued him, making him desperate to know anything and everything about his unwanted pale flatmate. But if he said that Marik knew it would only serve to stroke Bakura's already inflated ego.

Instead, Marik lifted his head and spat, "Get the fuck away from me. I was only trying to be polite – I don't give a damn what you do. The sooner you are out of my life, the better."

Bakura's expression instantly hardened, his brown eyes burning as they held Marik's gaze. Marik flinched at the fury hidden in them. Bakura leaned closer still, his breath washing over Marik's cheek as he hissed, "What if I don't _want_ to be out of your life, Ishtar?"

Marik stopped breathing. Bakura was far too close, his dark stare boring into Marik, his hands coming to rest on the wall either side of Marik's head as he bent down. Marik shrank away as far as he could in the limited space, his hair lifting with static as he rubbed against the brick behind him, his violet eyes widening the closer Bakura got. Marik spat, "I don't care what _you_ want."

Bakura growled in the back of his throat, his eyes narrowing. "Perhaps you should, Ishtar."

"Why?" Marik's voice broke a little at their proximity, but his gaze was hard. "Why the hell should I give a damn about you? You've done nothing but use me for your own gain. Get the fuck away from me."

Bakura eyes flashed, his lips pursing as his face went white with fury. Wordlessly he ripped away from the wall, turning without a backwards glance, his black coat swirling around him. One careless sentence was tossed over his shoulder. "If you truly believe that, Ishtar, then you are not worth my time."

Marik sagged against the wall as he watched Bakura exit the alley, his white hair soon disappearing in the crowds of the street. Marik drew in a deep, shuddering breath and sank to the ground, curling into a ball and grabbing his hair in his fists. He could never think when Bakura was around. The pale student had a way of getting right under Marik's skin, knowing just exactly where to dig to get the worst reaction. Marik was getting sick of it. He needed to get out of that flat, urgently, before he completely lost his senses and got caught hopelessly in Bakura's trap. His unwanted flatmate's question kept whirring around in Marik's head; the fact that Marik had no satisfactory answer to it was really bugging him. He didn't know why he was so intrigued by Bakura. All he knew was whenever Bakura kept something from him, hot harsh anger would flare up in Marik's gut and spread furiously through his veins, clouding his mind over with a red haze and forcing him to push the other farther than he probably should. That was most likely why Bakura ended up fighting him so much.

Marik growled when he realised how easily Bakura had pinned him again just then, in this dark alley. The teen was skinnier than Marik and they were exactly matched in height, but Marik knew he had more muscles than Bakura and he was used to using them to defend himself. It bothered him how easily Bakura managed to overpower him. _Manipulative bastard, he always knows where to strike so I can't hit him back,_ Marik grumbled to himself as he pushed himself upright. A small smile graced his lips, however, when he remembered that _he_ had topped, not Bakura, when they slept together. For some reason, that gave Marik a sense of great satisfaction. _He isn't the strongest all the time._

Marik leaned back against the wall with a sigh, his fingers absentmindedly going to his back, tracing the scars through his shirt. It was careless and stupid of him to have allowed Yami and Tea to spot them – admittedly, he hadn't expected them to corner him like that, but he still should have been better prepared. He couldn't cope with episodes like this every day. As Marik's fingers slid under his top, he froze suddenly when he realised what was missing.

He was not in pain.

Shocked, Marik ripped away from the wall and ran his fingers up his back. The familiar marred skin met his touch, but it was different – it didn't hurt. Pulling his hands away, Marik brought the tip of his forefinger to his nose and sniffed suspiciously, getting the faintest hint of antiseptic amidst the slightly-wet skin. There was lotion on his scars that hadn't been there before. Marik furrowed his brows, his fingers going to his back once more; yes, there was definitely something there. The higher Marik went, the more obvious it became that his back had been treated with some sort of lotion or cream that he had never seen or heard of before. But – how...?

Bakura.

Marik's jaw dropped. No way – why on earth would his pale flatmate rub his back with something to make the pain go away? That was certainly _not_ something Bakura would do, especially not when they were on such bad terms as they were now. Marik frowned again as he rubbed his back. No other explanation made sense, but it was so strange to think of Bakura being remotely nice after the events of this week. Marik felt a strange warmth grow in his chest at that thought – Bakura must care a bit about him, to do something like this. He could have no ulterior motive, no reason for helping Marik other than to try and lessen his pain. Marik half-smiled...

...And then came back to earth with a grimace. This was precisely why he needed to get out of that flat. Bakura was manipulative, cruel, and certainly _not_ compassionate, and it was dangerous for Marik to assume any different. No, the sooner Marik found a place of his own, the better. With that thought firmly in mind, Marik started back out of the alley and down the street, resolving to book himself another meeting with the Accommodation Officer as soon as he got back to his building.

...

"I can book you in for two hours' time, if that would be any use?"

Marik tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk of reception, eyeing the lady behind the desk with a dark glare. "He's available today? When I last tried to get an appointment with him I had to wait almost a whole week."

"Yes, the Accommodation Office is less busy at this time of year." The lady tapped away at her keyboard for a moment before turning to him with a wide, fake smile. "I can do five O'clock this evening."

Marik nodded brusquely, turning over what to do for the next two hours in his head. He didn't really want to spend time in the flat – he had spent enough time working in the library that morning, and he had had enough of sitting at a desk. Besides, Bakura wouldn't be there. Chewing his lip, Marik considered wandering the streets for a while before deciding that actually, he would rather pay Kek a visit; that way, there was a much smaller probability of running into Yami or Tea, who would no doubt bombard him with awkward questions.

Marik pushed away from the desk after confirming the details of his appointment, turning to exit onto the streets of the city once again. The rain was still coming down heavily and Marik had no jacket, so he wrapped his arms around himself and shivered as he walked, the edges of his vision blurred by his dripping hair and the grey droplets still falling from the sky. It didn't take him long to walk to Kek's, thankfully. Ringing the buzzer with a shaking hand, Marik shivered on the doorstep, wringing out his golden hair as best he could until the door was thrown open and Kek beamed down at him. "Oh, you're coming to visit me for once! About time too, pipsqueak."

Marik merely rolled his eyes, pushing past Kek and heading to the flat he remembered from his last visit. "Shut it, Kek, and let me in. I'm freezing."

"Your fault for going out in the rain," Kek shrugged as unlocked the door. Marik made straight for the radiator in the spacious hallway, pressing himself up against it with a sigh as his still-soggy clothes steamed against the heat. Kek scoffed when he saw what his cousin was doing. "Marik, get in here! I've had the oven on, it's warmer."

Marik moved reluctantly away from the radiator, dripping a path into the kitchen where he collapsed onto a seat at the table. Kek placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him and sat down too. "Well, Marik. Why have you finally decided to grace me with your company?"

Marik shrugged, taking a long draft before sitting up slightly. "I've got a couple of hours to kill before I meet the Accommodation people. Figured I may as well stop by."

"Nice to know I'm such a high priority for you," Kek snorted. He frowned when Marik's words sank in to his skull. "Wait, Accommodation? Why do you want to talk to them?"

"So I can finally get a flat of my own. Why do you think?" Marik took another long sip of his coffee, inhaling the scent of it and wrapping his freezing hands around the steaming mug. He shivered.

Kek frowned at him. "Why are you moving out?"

Marik almost snorted with laughter. His violet eyes were narrowed in disbelief when he lifted his head to fix Kek with a dark stare, his hands curling tighter around the mug. "Kek, you saw what Bakura was like last time you were around. He's a bastard! The sooner I'm away from him, the better."

"You don't really believe that, though?" Kek was definitely frowning now, his features folded in confusion. "You and Bakura are hilarious."

"Well, I'm so pleased to be a source of entertainment to you," Marik seethed, instantly bristling.

Kek snorted, a grin stretching his lips wide as he remained impervious to the violet glare directed his way. "See? Any mention of him and you instantly blow up. It's fucking funny."

Marik continued to glare at his cousin as he finished the last of his coffee, pointedly slamming the cup back on the table. "Well, if I am merely here to be mocked, I think I'll just go. Even an empty flat is better than your crappy company."

"Don't be like that, cuz!" Kek cackled, leering at Marik as he made to stand up. "You know you love it really."

"I fucking hate you," Marik hissed, crossing his arms and tilting his head back petulantly. "You've never been able to just leave me alone."

Kek grinned. "Well, of course not. It's my job to irritate you."

"Fucking fantastic." Marik closed his eyes, rubbing a palm down his face as he drew in a sigh. He checked his watch. "Look, I've got an hour before my meeting. If you're just going to tease me, I'm leaving."

Kek instantly grew serious, his usual grin dropping into a thin line as he regarded his cousin. "Marik, are you really moving out?"

"Of course I am," Marik growled. "Why the hell wouldn't I? I can't cope with Bakura. He's a bastard."

Kek shook his head, leaning back in his seat. "I don't think you should give up that easily."

"What? Why the hell not?" Marik bristled again as he sat back in his seat, crossing his arms on the tabletop as he stared at his cousin. "And it isn't _giving up_ – I'm doing what's best for me."

Kek lifted a brow. "Do you really think living all on your own is going to be good for you? You find it hard to be social as it is..."

"I will be fine, thank you," Marik ground through gritted teeth.

Kek pursed his lips. "No, you won't. I know you, Marik, and you freak out a lot. You don't cope well on your own."

"It will be better than dealing with Bakura." Marik's voice faltered a little, thought; Kek had a point. Marik really _didn't_ cope well on his own, the broken chair and cupboard in the kitchen of Bakura's flat were proof enough of that. Bakura always helped to cool Marik down whenever he suffered through a flashback, always appearing to understand what Marik was going through without him having to explain. It was strange, how close the two of them could be.

_But Bakura ruined that by taking advantage of me,_ Marik reminded himself fiercely. _Plus he's manipulative and cruel, and I can't take anything he says seriously. I need to get out of there, before I do some real damage._

Kek had other ideas. "You're wrong, Marik. Bakura isn't so hard to deal with, and you cope very well – you don't just let him get his own way. You should stay with him. Never mind the fact that the two of you are hilarious."

"Shut _up_ about that," Marik hissed, his hands curling into fists. "I can't cope with him! He is going to drive me insane if I'm not careful. I need to get away from him, can't you understand that?"

Kek regarded Marik with dark violet eyes. "I think you're making a mistake. Bakura enjoys having you around -"

"No, he doesn't!" Marik couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "He hates me being there as much as I do! Why the hell would you think anything different?"

Kek shrugged. "He told me so. Not in as many words, but he helps you out and takes you places, and he gave _me_ a job to keep me out of your hair. Doesn't seem like he hates you to me."

_That_ brought Marik up short. He blinked for a moment or two, violet eyes wide as he tried to think of something to say. "Bakura ... gave you a job to _help me?_ Why?"

"I don't know," Kek grinned. "I just got a call from Kaiba to say that Bakura had recommended me, and to keep me out of his and his flatmate's way. Seems like he was doing you a favour, to me. I thought you must have bugged him to get me it."

Marik looked dumbfounded. "I never said a thing to him."

"There you go, then!" Kek laughed. "You don't need to move out at all."

Marik came back to earth with a start, frown instantly returning a crease to his brow. "No, no fucking way. Bakura makes it perfectly apparent that he hates me. I am not staying there a second longer than I have to."

"You're making a mistake, cousin," Kek advised.

Marik shook his head, his lips pursed as he stood up. "I'm doing the most sensible thing, and getting the hell out of there. I've got to go – I'm going to be late."

Kek watched him out of the flat, his eyes glittering mysteriously. "We'll see how long this lasts, Marik. We'll see."

...

The Accommodation Officer sat behind his cluttered desk, clicking away at an old, grumbling computer, filling the small office with clicks and whirs and the scent of musty old paper. Marik wrinkled his nose. His fingers dug into the cheap plastic of the plain chair he was seated on, his lips drawn into a frown as he shifted impatiently.

Another couple of clicks later and the Officer turned to him with a smile. "Yes, there is an availability. We had a drop out over on Crossworth Street, it's a single flat in a block of fifty on the ground floor. You get your own room and kitchen, but you have to share a bathroom, and the rent is more expensive than your current situation."

Marik turned it over in his head, but really, it was a no-brainer. "I'll take it. When can I move in?"

"Hm..." the Officer clicked a couple more times and then nodded. "The earliest would be on Monday."

Four days. Marik grimaced. Could he cope with four more days of living with Bakura? Things were awkward enough already... "Is there nothing earlier than that?"

"I think that's your best bet, but I'll keep an eye out and let you know if anything comes up." The Officer gave him a sympathetic smile. "Living with Touzoku is tough on the best of us – we've had nine people move out of his flat in the year he's been here. You're the tenth, and you've lasted the longest so far – people don't usually make it a month. You're into your third."

"Second," Marik corrected with a frown, "It isn't December yet."

"It will be tomorrow," the Officer grinned. "You are to be congratulated. I'll get you out of there as soon as I can, but until you get my letter try not to kill him, alright?"

Marik nodded distantly, missing the humour as he stood and slowly exited the office. So it had been almost three months since he first moved here, which made it approximately four since he first escaped the tomb. He had been living out in the open air for four months.

Somehow, Marik had expected these months to have been better.

_Still, I can't change them now,_ Marik thought with a sigh as he made his way to the lift. _I've just got to get out of here and make the best of whatever I can salvage afterwards._ He ignored the wriggle in his gut at the thought of having to start all over again somewhere new, never having to put up with Bakura again. In fact, once Marik moved out, he would have absolutely no reason to see the pale music student anymore.

For some reason, that didn't satisfy Marik as much as he thought it would.

Soon finding himself in his flat, Marik almost groaned when he walked straight into Bakura, who was exiting the kitchen. Dark brown eyes flicked impassively over Marik's wet clothes. Marik shifted under the gaze and attempted to walk past, but Bakura, unsurprisingly, stopped him.

Marik glared.

"Where have you been?" Bakura's voice was as dark as ever, flat and emotionless as he looked impassively into Marik's eyes.

Marik hissed. "Why is that any of your business?"

Bakura's only reply was to frown slightly, making Marik even more uncomfortable. He still felt awkward about what had happened in the alley earlier, his mind whirring with questions as to why Bakura would have treated his back, which was still pain-free. Asking him would only make things more awkward, though...

Oh, what the hell.

"Why did you help me earlier?" Marik's question dropped into the air like a flung stone, thrown with just the right strength to knock Bakura back a step. The pale student's expression shifted, closing slightly as his brown eyes burned.

Bakura looked back at Marik, his features schooled into calm. "What do you mean?"

"You know full well what I mean." Marik didn't back down, pursing his lips. "You treated my back with something. I'm not an idiot. Why?"

Bakura's lips twitched. "Whether or not you're an idiot is open for debate."

"Don't be an asshole." Marik's eyes slid closed before he forced them open again, folding his arms in front of his chest. "What did you do to me?"

Bakura shrugged. "Found some cream in the cupboard. Figured it could help you."

"And you just _happened_ to have it with you?" Marik quirked a brow. "Forgive me for not quite believing that."

Bakura smirked. "Think what you like."

Marik chewed the inside of his cheek, his brows creasing. Bakura had actually done something nice for him; that was one for the record books. It made his gut clench even more when he thought about moving out of this flat, but he knew he had no choice – Bakura was cruel and manipulative. This was probably all part of some master plan to make Marik do his bidding. Or become his slave.

"So where were you, anyway? You're soaked," Bakura commented, his voice carefully neutral.

Marik shrugged. "Went to visit Kek. Then I had a meeting – they've found a flat for me. A single one. I'll be moving in on Monday, then I'll be out of your way for good. You should be glad about that."

Silence held through the corridor as Bakura digested this information, his expression changing from neutral to angry to downright furious. His dark gaze flashed when he turned it on Marik, advancing forwards a step. "As I said earlier, Ishtar, what makes you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here?"

"Why the hell wouldn't you?" Marik backed up easily, manoeuvring himself away from any walls as he stepped into the centre of the hall. "You've wanted me out ever since I first moved in here. Well, now you get your wish; I'm leaving on Monday, and I'm never coming back."

Bakura growled, a low, dangerous sound, as he circled Marik. "Things have changed, Ishtar. I need you here."

"The fuck you do," Marik spat, feeling anger growing in his own gut at the superiority in Bakura's tone. "You just want someone to play with, and I am fucking sick of being your slave."

"You know too much about me, Ishtar, and I am not letting you leave." Bakura pounced, giving Marik no warning before they were suddenly on the floor. A rush of air escaped Marik's chest as he landed on his back, the absence of pain once again incredible as a weight crumpled on top of him, and Bakura had him pinned once again. "You hear me, Marik? You are not leaving this flat."

Marik took a moment to catch his breath, glaring daggers up at Bakura, heat rushing through his veins at how close his dark brown eyes were as they seared into Marik. "Get the hell off me."

Bakura's only response was to press closer, pinning Marik's wrists by his head as he straddled his waist. "I am not letting you leave."

"You are not the one who decides where I go and what I do," Marik spat, bucking viciously under him. "Now let me the fuck up, before -"

Marik stopped talking when Bakura leaned down and mashed his mouth against Marik's.

This kiss was harsh, searing, and power-hungry, nothing like their first; white hair snapped in the corners of Marik's vision, Bakura's tongue prying his lips open, and Marik couldn't help but respond in like. Bakura's familiar scent was everywhere, pressed against his chest, fingers curling around his wrists and sliding Marik closer, their mouths moving in sync. Shivers rolled down Marik's now painless back and he arched up, unable to stop himself meeting Bakura, curling into the coolness of his clothed chest. Bakura released something very close to a chuckle as he pushed Marik back down...

Marik came to his senses.

He wrenched his head away from Bakura's with a snarl, scrabbling backwards as far as he could with Bakura's weight still pressing into him. Brown eyes flashed as long fingers wrapped tightly around Marik's wrists, holding him firmly in place and preventing him from getting up, despite Marik's futile attempts. Eventually he stopped struggling, instead meeting Bakura's burning gaze with calm violet eyes. "Let me up," Marik said quietly.

Bakura stayed silent, his gaze calculating as he analysed Marik's every movement.

"I said, let me up," Marik growled, refusing to allow any emotion into his tone. Slowly, torturously slowly, Bakura slid backwards until he was kneeling on the carpet. Marik instantly shot backwards, his back coming to rest against a wall as he drew his knees into his chest. The two watched each other, brown on violet, both chests moving rapidly as each waited for the other to speak. Marik's blood pounded through his veins, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands bunching the fabric of his shirt as he kneaded his fists in his lap. Bakura, in contrast, was immobile and immovable, his gaze fixated on Marik's.

Marik broke first.

"And that," he started slowly, noting Bakura's unchanging expression, "Is exactly why I have to get out of here."

Bakura remained silent and stern, his features flawlessly stoical.

Marik waited another moment before climbing slowly to his feet, turning without a word and entering his own bedroom.

Monday couldn't come soon enough.

**That's it for now - it actually turned into a pretty long chapter. I didn't expect it to take as many words as it did. ^_^ I am looking forward to writing Thursday's update. I have a feeling you will all like that one. XD Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	12. Chapter 12

**Another update, and I'm sorry I'm a day late! I'm hoping things get clearer again here, but don't worry if things seem a little fast – all will be explained. Sorry for the lateness and the general rubbishness of this chapter, my health has decided it doesn't want me to be able to do anything anymore. Including sitting on a sofa and writing fanfictions. *Sigh.* ^_^**

**To the guest reviewer: Thank you for reviewing! Don't worry, Bakura's side of things will be explained and explored. It is touched on in this chapter, but there is more to come. I hope you like! XD**

**Well, I shall shut up now and let you read. I hope you enjoy! - Jem**

The next morning Marik awoke to a silent, empty flat. It was eerily dark and quiet without Bakura's lurking presence, so Marik wasted no time in grabbing breakfast and heading straight out of the door, making for his first lecture with trepidation pooling in his gut. There was no way Marik would be able to escape Yami and Tea's inevitable questioning.

Sure enough, no sooner had Marik entered the lecture hall than he was instantly cornered by two worried gazes, one blue, the other purple. Marik looked between them and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Will the both of you please leave me alone?"

Yami and Tea shared a look before Tea shook her head, her blue eyes crinkled with concern. "Marik, whatever happened to you looks really serious. You should get it seen -"

"I am _fine_," Marik snapped through gritted teeth. This sort of questioning was precisely what he had been trying to avoid. "Do you hear me? The both of you should learn to mind your own business."

Tea looked slightly hurt and Yami looked ready to say something, but the lecturer at that moment chose to enter and so they had to take their seats. Marik was all-too-aware of their frequent questioning glances, though, as he stabbed his pencil into his notepad, creating various ferocious doodles.

The seminar later that day wasn't much better. Tea, thankfully, wasn't in their group, but Yami plagued Marik with constant stares and various scribbled notes; much against the stern student's usually strict work regime. Marik ignored both him and the tutor, instead scrawling random faces across his page, depicting expressions ranging from anger through to hate. Bakura was constantly in his head.

Why had Bakura kissed him again the night before? It made no sense to Marik's confused mind. Marik could hardly even understand Bakura's wish for him to stay in the same flat – ever since he had first moved in, Bakura had made it perfectly clear that Marik wasn't wanted. _No doubt Bakura will just get fed up of having to cook and clean for himself again,_ Marik thought bitterly as he stabbed his pencil into the clear white page. Except, even in his head, that thought didn't ring quite true. Bakura had definitely been ... different ... recently, and Marik wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. The pale student was a confusing sadist, Marik knew that for sure. After all, Bakura manipulated each situation perfectly to his own advantage, the night Marik got drunk being a perfect example, as well as the many, many times Marik had found himself bruised after an encounter with Bakura. But then...

Then, there were all the little things Bakura would do that actually make him seem _pleasant_. Like playing piano for him, giving him lotion for his back that Marik was pretty sure he would have had to buy specially, although knowing Bakura it was probably stolen. Even that had been fun, though; Bakura had trusted Marik enough to take him out stealing, even though they had hardly known each other then. Marik hated how he could never seem to get Bakura off his mind, a strange tug in his chest attracting him to his unwanted flatmate whenever they were together. Of course, Bakura randomly kissing him in the hall of their shared flat was hardly helping matters.

Marik dug his pencil in further, cursing under his breath when the lead snapped. He examined the broken tip, his thoughts incessantly creeping back to Bakura, no matter how much he tried to train them in a different direction. His unwanted flatmate was just so damn _contradictory._ One minute he was cursing at Marik over the tiniest thing, the next he was ordering him never to leave. It didn't make any sense and Marik was too tired to try and figure it out; there were more important things he should be focusing on. Like what on earth he was going to tell Yami when he was finally cornered after this damn seminar.

Marik was right, of course. No sooner had the seminar ended than Yami turned on him, his eyes serious and demanding as they took in Marik's form. "What's going on with you? You look really tired."

Marik sighed, his eyes closing as he allowed everyone else to stand up and leave the room. He could feel Yami's gaze still trained on his face, so Marik reluctantly opened his mouth, starting to speak with a heavy sigh. "I really am alright, Yami."

"You don't look it." Yami was blunter that Marik had ever heard him before. "You look exhausted, and you can't tell me those scars on your back are nothing. What did you do?"

Marik tiredly swiped away the haze of memories that threatened to fill his skull, pushing his chair away from the desk and grabbing his bag as he made to exit the room, Yami at his heels. As they descended the stairs back to the foyer, Yami muttered quietly, "I am not letting this drop, Marik."

Marik merely sighed. He groaned, however, when they reached the entrance and spotted a familiar brown head awaiting them in the doorway, blue eyes flashing as they sought out Yami and Marik. Tea was by their side in an instant, grabbing Yami's hand as she turned on Marik. "You need to explain what's going on in your life, Marik."

"Like hell I do," Marik muttered sullenly, not really surprised when they followed him out of the building and into the grey street. Tea didn't let up as they walked, her shoes slapping on the wet pavement as she pulled in front of him and forced him to a halt.

"Marik," she started, concern floating in her blue eyes. "Look, I get that you might not want to talk about your past, but you don't look well."

Marik merely rolled his eyes.

"I'm serious! We're worried about you." At that, Tea tugged Yami closer to her side.

Marik scoffed as he met Yami's serious gaze. "You've got bigger things to worry about. Aren't your family sick?"

"That is none of your concern," Yami responded stiffly, his brow creased as he narrowed his eyes, flicking them over Marik's face. "You look exhausted. Has Bakura been bothering you?"

"Or keeping you up?" Tea almost grinned, completely missing Marik's dangerous glare. "Everyone knows you two have got a thing for each other -"

"Stop. Talking." Marik's teeth were quite clearly gritted, his hands curling into fists by his side as he stared at Tea's vacuous blue stare.

She ignored him, as ever. "I didn't really believe it until we saw you at the club – he was really protective. And Mai says she saw you leave together, and Joey was laughing about how he'd seen you kissing and it had completely freaked out this other guy on his course -"

Marik tuned her out, his jaw going slack. Someone had seen him and Bakura? _Kissing_? Oh, Gods, that was not going to help matters. Marik was getting out of his flat for a reason; he didn't think he could deal with constant rumours reminding him of Bakura. The thought of it sent twists of pain shooting through Marik's chest. Once he moved out, the chances were that he would never see Bakura again – they would have no reason to keep contact, sharing no classes or friends other than Kek, and Marik couldn't see Bakura visiting him. No, once Marik had left, that would be the last he knew of the pale music student. Which was what he wanted. Wasn't it?

"Marik?"

Yami's quiet voice brought him out of his thoughts and Marik sighed, passing a hand across his forehead. "I'm fine."

"So is it Bakura that's been bothering you?" Yami's gaze was narrowed and sharp, raking easily over Marik's features.

Marik shifted uncomfortably. "No. Well, at least, he won't for much longer. I'm moving out on Monday."

Both their jaws dropped, identical looks of surprise covering both of their features. It would have been comical, had Marik not been so aggravated.

Tea pulled herself together first. "Well, I guess that makes sense, if it's what you really want."

"Of course it is," Marik snapped. "Why the hell would you think it isn't? I hate him!"

A brief look of confusion flitted across Tea's face. Her blue eyes dimmed. "But at the bar -"

"He got me drunk," Marik growled, his fists clenching by his sides as he stared furiously at her. "I had no control over what I was doing."

Tea swallowed and backed off, deciding (wisely) not to say any more. Yami, however, did not drop it there. Marik raised his eyes to the heavens and resisted throwing a punch when he started to speak. "I thought you were happy there, Marik."

"Well, you thought wrong," Marik responded, his tone dripping. "The sooner I'm out of there, the better."

A strange look passed Yami's features as he turned his stern gaze on Marik. "I bet Bakura will miss you."

"Are you kidding? All he's wanted since I arrived is to get me out of there!" Marik kept the frustration evident in his tone, despite the small tendrils of doubt he could feel slithering through his skull. Those words didn't ring quite true anymore – the last couple of times Marik had seen Bakura, the music student had made it fairly clear that he wasn't happy about Marik leaving, although for the life of him Marik couldn't figure out why. He hated that insufferable bastard, and he was convinced that Bakura hated him just as much. Nothing else would make sense.

Yami was smiling at him, a small self-satisfied expression that just lifted the corners of his mouth. "You're wrong, Marik. He acts like that all the time, but the few times I've seen you together, he practically goes out of his way to make sure you're alright."

Marik actually laughed at that, peals of mirth making their jagged way past his lips. "Now I _know_ you're joking. He spends half his time yelling at me and the other half beating me up."

"Are you honestly telling me he's never given you any reason to think he might actually like you?" Yami shook his head. "You're wrong, and I think you know it."

Marik stopped short. The truth was, Bakura _had_, on several occasions, surprised Marik by being surprisingly gentle. But that didn't mean anything – Bakura had always been absolutely clear that Marik was just an inconvenience, nothing more, and everything he did was to cause as little disruption to his own routine as possible.

Except...

Yesterday, Marik could have sworn Bakura went _out_ of his way to get Marik some treatment for his back. And the night they first kissed, Bakura had actually allowed him into his room and played for him, without even Marik suggesting it himself, just to help calm him after his rush of flashbacks. Did you really do that sort of thing for someone you hate?

Gods, Bakura was confusing.

Marik shook himself out of his reverie and fixed Yami with a piercing glare. "What I do is no concern of yours; I'm moving out on Monday for my own sanity, and that's final. Now both of you get out of my way." Marik barrelled through them without another word, not paying any attention to where his feet were going, the most prevalent thought on his mind just to _get_ _out of there._

The rain was a mere dribble today, spitting occasionally out of the sky but never enough to actually make Marik uncomfortable. He wandered the streets with no real idea of where he was going, merely sure that he didn't want to spend time back in the flat again or face any more awkward questioning from Yami and Tea – he had had enough of them to last him a lifetime. Pacing aimlessly across the stone pavement, Marik pursed his lips when he realised he was entering Kek's neighbourhood. Well, paying his cousin a visit had worked as a timekiller yesterday; perhaps Kek could provide a refuge whilst Marik tried his best to avoid Bakura.

Who was he kidding? Kek would just tease him and make things a million times worse.

Still, company was better than wandering the streets on his own. Marik heaved a sigh, allowing his feet to tread the increasingly familiar path to Kek's luxurious flat, pressing the buzzer as soon as he got there. It was answered after a few minutes, Kek's threatening tones growling out, "If you're another fucking salesman I am going to rip your throat out, tear it into shreds and then eat it. _Slowly_."

Marik couldn't hold back a chuckle, despite the anger he still felt pooling in his gut. "Still so violent, Kek."

"Twice in one week, Marik. I'm impressed. I'll come and let you in." The buzzer clicked and the door was soon flung open, revealing a tall broad-shouldered Egyptian with familiar spiky hair. Kek grinned. "At least you don't look like a drowned rat this time."

Marik swatted him playfully as he stepped inside, following Kek into his flat. It was messier this time, papers and boxes carelessly tossed around the hall and the kitchen as Marik took a seat at the table, stretching and glancing around with a raised eyebrow. "What are you doing, planning a bank robbery?"

"Train robbery, actually," Kek said perfectly seriously, his face deadpan as he turned to his cousin. "I've got to go out and get a couple of knives actually, I couldn't smuggle them over from Egypt. You can come with me, if you want."

Marik shrugged. "Eh, I've got nothing better to do. Just don't do anything illegal. Or dangerous."

Kek merely leered at him.

They headed out of the flat, walking quickly through the rain towards the centre of the city, Kek a tall leering shadow by his slightly smaller cousin's side. The shops were busy, teeming with people even this late in the day. Kek soon led them to a more run-down side of town, though, where the crowds were far fewer and the people more menacing; Marik instinctively drew closer to his cousin's side.

Kek laughed at him. "We _are_ going to buy knives. What did you expect?"

"Just hurry up so we can get out of here," Marik muttered by way of response, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso. Kek grinned but obediently quickened his steps.

Marik decided to wait outside the shop whilst Kek was inspecting the weapons, lounging against the wall and doing his level best to look nonchalant. This side of the city was definitely not as well-looked-after as the main shopping streets; the corners were deeply shadowed, the rain dribbling hazily through the air and setting a dull, grey mist over the hidden shops. Marik leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, attempting to empty his mind. He still wasn't sleeping well; the knowledge that Bakura was in the next room always seemed to stress him. Marik needed to get out of there as soon as he could.

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Ishtar."

Marik cursed under his breath. Why was it that everywhere, _everywhere_ he went, the chilling dark voice always seemed to follow him? Could he not get even five minutes away from that insufferable bastard?

"We're in a practically deserted street, Marik. You can't ignore me out here, as much as I'm sure you'd _love_ to."

Marik winced at the venom lacing the familiar dangerous voice, crossing his arms over his chest as he reluctantly opened his eyes. Sure enough, white hair met his vision. Bakura was standing no more than three feet away, his feet planted firmly on the cold stone pavement and his chin tilted in the arrogant manner he always wore, his long black coat flaring around him as he stared straight at Marik.

"I should have known you'd show up," Marik groaned, massaging his temples. "I shouldn't hang out with Kek if you're just going to follow him."

A snort ripped between Bakura's lips as a corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. "Perhaps you should go play with your new best friends instead. I'm sure Yami would just _love_ to hear all about your problems"

"You dare say anything to them about me and I will kill you," Marik hissed, instantly bristling. Bakura just laughed at him, his hands dropping into his pockets as he shifted his weight. Marik glared at him before leaning back against the wall, releasing a resigned sigh. "What do you want?"

"I can't come and talk to my _flatmate_ without being questioned?" Bakura arched an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a sneer.

Marik's eyes closed again. "I told you, I'll be out of the flat on Monday. Then we can both get on with our lives. _Separately._"

Bakura's eyes flashed, something Marik missed, and a myriad of expressions crossed his usually calm pale features. White fists clenched inside the sleeves of a black coat, but before Bakura could speak again a tall leering shadow stalked out of the shop, new possessions tucked safely inside the pockets of a cloak. Kek's grin widened when he looked between Marik and Bakura. "Aw. Having another lovers' tiff?"

The effect was instantaneous on both students; Marik's eyes flew open and he bounced away from the wall to fix Kek with a furious glare, whilst Bakura visibly paled, his nails digging into his palms as he released a low poisonous hiss. Kek merely laughed at them. "Gods, you two are so sensitive about this."

"Let's just get the fuck out of here," Marik growled, stalking away down the street without a second glance. Kek was about to follow him when a pale hand snaked forwards and caught his arm, grip surprisingly strong. Kek turned, not really surprised at Bakura's question.

"He's really leaving, isn't he?"

Kek shrugged, the grin dropping from his face momentarily as he took in Bakura's burning gaze. "He thinks he is. He's an idiot – he's never been able to see what's right in front of his face."

Bakura folded his arms, his brows furrowing before his lips stretched into a sly smirk. "Well, I might just have to change that. He isn't going anywhere."

"You can go ahead and try!" Kek shook his head. "You're both hopeless. It's very entertaining."

Bakura merely winked before turning and starting back down the street, the opposite way to where Marik had disappeared. Kek looked after him for a moment, releasing a low chuckle. He started after his cousin with a small smile playing about his mouth.

...

Marik spent the rest of the weekend as far away from his flat as he could; or to be more precise, as far away from Bakura as he could get. Unfortunately, that meant spending time with Kek was also out, as the two of them were involved in some scheme of Kaiba's that Marik thought it generally safer to stay well away from. Left without many options, Marik begrudgingly joined Yami when he invited him on a shopping trip with Tea, Joey and Mai, along with another guy called Tristan that Marik hadn't met yet. As a result, Marik spent most of the weekend gritting his teeth.

Yami noticed his discomfort and took him aside from the group a little way, leaning against the wall of a shop whilst they waited for Tea to try on some new dresses. Marik sighed when he saw the questioning look in Yami's eyes. "Whatever you want to say, just spit it out."

"As long as you don't snap my head off this time." Yami's expression remained serious as he continued. "Are you serious about moving out?"

Marik rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it before you people believe me? Yes, I really mean it. I am moving in to my new place on Monday."

"Well, in that case, I'd like to help you." Yami nodded. "What time are you thinking of leaving?"

Marik frowned, folding his arms. He didn't really want anyone to help him move – it wasn't as if he had much stuff – but the determined look in Yami's eyes spoke volumes. _I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have someone else there,_ Marik mused. _Especially if Bakura starts causing trouble._ "Alright, sure," Marik shrugged. "I want to move out first thing Monday morning – I am not staying there any longer than I have to."

"We've got lectures first thing," Yami pointed out gently. "I can come with you in the evening though, help you move then?"

Marik grimaced. "No, I want out straight away. I'll move on my own, I don't mind skipping the lecture."

"It will take a long time by yourself," Yami disagreed, pursing his lips. His purple eyes glazed over in thought as he crossed his arms, shifting his weight. "Tell you what, if you're so desperate to move so soon, come and sleep on my floor Sunday night and I'll help you move in to your new place after the lecture. That way, you won't have to see Bakura after this weekend if you don't want to. What do you think?"

Marik thought it over, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Yami had a point – that way, he would be out of Bakura's way much earlier. Marik didn't really care about going to the lectures, but it gave him a faster way out, and that was something Marik was certainly interested in. He even managed a genuine smile when he looked at Yami. "Yes, let's do that."

"Great!" Yami smiled back. "Come over Sunday evening, whenever you want to, I'll be in. I hope you won't mind one night on the floor..."

Marik shrugged. "I'll be fine."

Yami sent him one final smile just as Tea reappeared from the dressing rooms. Marik tuned them out again, his thoughts going to Sunday evening – so soon, and he would finally be rid of Bakura. Marik's gut twisted at that thought, but he put it down to anticipation. Living in a flat on his own had been his goal ever since he first left Egypt, so to finally be achieving it should make Marik very happy; he could finally be truly independent and live life his own way, with no regard to what anyone else wanted.

Still, with the fake smile Marik plastered on his face as he left the shop with the vacuous group of people he now called his 'friends', Marik couldn't help but feel he was still missing something.

...

_Notepad, pencils, sharpener, colours. _

_Clothes, shoes, jacket._

_ Raincoat. _

_Gloves, scarf, hat._

_Jewellery, knife._

_Laptop, alarm clock, timetable, pens._

Was that really everything?

Marik looked at his one small suitcase, scouring all his worldly belongings with something close to sadness pooling in his gut. He had never had much to call his own, but this seemed even worse than it had when he first arrived; he didn't even have any of his own kitchen stuff, having just borrowed Bakura's up until now. Thinking of the music student only sent sharp stabs of pain through Marik's gut, though, so he quickly shut down that train of thought, snapping the suitcase shut with a sudden flare of anger. He was doing the right thing! Yami would be waiting for him in his own flat and the sooner Marik was out of here, the better for all involved. The flat was silent, signalling that Bakura was out, so there was absolutely nothing stopping Marik from just standing up and walking out of here, for good. Still, he couldn't resist one last wander around his room, brushing his fingers gently over the cheap wood of the desk. This was the first room that had been truly his, after all – he was bound to feel a little nostalgic.

Casting one final glance around his bare room, Marik scooped up his suitcase and left, locking it behind him for the last time. He looked around the small hall, wincing at the remembered pain of being slammed against the wall by Bakura on so many different occasions ... but thinking about his unwanted flatmate caused another sharp twist, so he blocked the memories again. As he stepped towards the door, however, Marik couldn't help but pause outside Bakura's room. The door was ever-so-slightly ajar, as it had been the first time Marik sneaked into it, but _that_ had only resulted in Bakura chucking Marik out into the corridor with a few added bruises to remember him by. But that was before Bakura had known about Marik's scars...

Hell, one last look couldn't hurt.

The suitcase was dropped in the hall as Marik pushed the door open, a quick flick of violet eyes showing him that the room really was empty, Bakura's intoxicating presence nowhere to be found. Marik edged further into the darkened room, his eyes picking out the shape of the desk, bed and piano – he skimmed over the bed, memories of the morning he had woken up there rising in his head. He wrinkled his nose a little as one tanned hand slowly caressed the sheets. His night spent between them had been far from bad, although he admitted with a small, wry smile that his memory of that night probably wasn't too perfect.

Turning away from the bed, Marik crossed the room to the desk, stepping around the mess of clothes that littered Bakura's floor. His desk wasn't much tidier, littered with papers and music and random bits of jewellery, the occasional glint of real gold shimmering through the mess. Marik shook his head; the police would have a field day if they ever got to search this room. Bakura was too arrogant for his own good.

Absentmindedly turning over some of the papers, Marik went still when a flash of dull colour slipped through his fingers. It was a photograph. Marik frowned down at it, not recognising the girl it depicted – she had pale skin and light blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her brown eyes smiling at something just to the right of the camera. She was very pretty. Laying the photo down carefully, Marik glanced once more around the empty, shadowy room, his gaze coming to rest on the proud piano tucked away in one corner. He was beside it in seconds, his fingers stroking the brown wood of its top as he stared hungrily down at the black and white keys. The stool looked soft and inviting, situated perfectly in position, and Marik was seated before he remembered moving. His dark hands hovered uncertainly over the keys, remembering the perfectly natural way Bakura's slender fingers picked out endless melodies. Envy rose once more in Marik's gut.

Still, Bakura had showed him something, the time he promised to teach him how to play. If Marik could just remember where his fingers were supposed to go ... He hit the keys a few times, disappointed at the crash of dissonance that rang angrily through the room. Why couldn't he make it sound as beautiful as Bakura did? What the hell did that pale idiot have that Marik didn't? Tanned hands pressed into the keys again, searching for the right melody, wincing at the ugly sounds that sprang from his fingers. Marik almost wanted to scream in frustration.

"...Are you quite done with destroying my piano?"

Marik hissed, his head snapping around to meet a familiar brown gaze. Bakura rested lazily in the doorway, his arms folded as he leaned against the frame, regarding Marik with a painfully familiar smirk on his face. Marik glared right back at him, remaining in his seat. "I was trying to remember."

"And failing, clearly." Bakura rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "I certainly never taught you anything as horrendous at that."

Marik's back bristled. He stood up furiously from the piano, stalking away from the stool and keeping a wary distance from Bakura. "Good thing I'm leaving, then. You won't have to put up with me for much longer."

Something flashed across Bakura's eyes. "I thought you were going tomorrow."

"Change of plan." Marik kept his tone carefully neutral, dropping his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look into Bakura' burning gaze any longer. "I'm staying at Yami's tonight. He's helping me move after lectures tomorrow."

There was a distinct silence, during which Marik shuffled his feet uncomfortably, until Bakura spoke again. There was an underlay of anger in his tone. "Of all the people in the world, why the hell would you stay with _Yami_?"

Marik exploded. "Oh, of course, that's the only thing you decide to comment on! Why the fuck wouldn't I? I don't know what the hell your problem is with him, but Yami is one of the few people in this damned country who actually talks to me like a human being."

"He's a bastard," Bakura hissed, his fists clenching as he met Marik's furious glare.

Marik had to hold back a snort of laughter. "Coming from you, Bakura, that is _really_ rich."

"Why?" Bakura growled, advancing a step and allowing the door to snap shut behind him. "Why do you hate me so much, Marik?"

Marik was brought up short by that question, his wide violet eyes momentarily showing his surprise. "I – well – because you are! You're a malicious, vindictive, cruel, insufferable bastard. What's not to hate?"

"Brat," Bakura snarled, taking two steps closer; Marik skittered back nervously, cursing himself for getting trapped in Bakura's room. The other student clearly had the upper hand. Bakura's eyes narrowed as he raked them over Marik's form, hissing, "I've done nothing to you. Hell, I've fucking _helped_ you more than anyone else here!"

"You call taking advantage nothing!" Marik snapped, fury making him shout the words in the small, stuffy air of the room. "You call making me your fucking _slave -_"

"I never did anything you didn't want!" Bakura roared, his hands grabbing onto Marik's shoulders, fingers digging in to his exposed skin. "You can't deny that, _Ishtar_, so you can fucking _stop_ saying I took advantage."

Marik froze under Bakura's touch, his eyes going wide. Bakura had a point, after all; Marik had always been the one to initiate anything between them, when he was sober as well as drunk. Bakura had always just _been there_, whenever Marik could feel himself sliding out of control or falling into the flashbacks of his past. Bakura had always helped him. In fact, he was the only person Marik trusted enough to tell his story too, although Gods know why he had done, really. The favour had never been returned.

Marik glared back at Bakura, his hands clenching into fists by his side. "Get the fuck off me, bastard. You made it perfectly clear from the second I walked in here that you didn't want me around – now I finally am leaving, and you go completely crazy! You don't make any sense."

An inhuman growl ripped between Bakura's lips as he shoved Marik back, paying no mind to his wince when his back hit a wall once more. "Yes, I wanted you to leave, _Ishtar._ You just came waltzing in here like you fucking owned the place, you showed me no respect -"

"Respect?" Marik was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with rapid movements. "Why the hell do you deserve any? You made me feel so unwelcome -"

"_Because you fucking were!"_ Bakura was completely irate by now. "You just took over my flat, like you had _any fucking right_ to invade my space, and you completely refused to leave me alone no matter how much I warned you off. And then you had to go and have a fucking breakdown and I realised what your past was, and you actually _made me feel sorry for you!"_ Bakura lifted Marik away only to slam him back into the wall, his burning gaze inches from Marik's face as he held him firmly in place. Marik stared back, nonplussed – this was not a side to Bakura he had seen before. He couldn't unravel all the emotions in Bakura's features.

"I warned you to leave," Bakura growled, his teeth inches from Marik's throat. "I warned you, but you, Marik motherfucking Ishtar, are too Goddamn stubborn for that. You kept getting in my way and breaking down in front of me; what the hell was I supposed to do? I couldn't have you falling apart. But then you go and flip over every tiny thing, overreacting like you always do, to the point that now you're actually doing as I said in the first place and leaving, when I no longer even fucking _want_ you to!"

Marik was dumbfounded. He blinked at Bakura, his mouth slightly open, sagging against the wall for support. His wind was racing. "You – you don't want me to go?"

"Fuck no!" Bakura slammed him against the wall again, his mouth far too close to Marik's as he hissed, "Why the fuck would you even think that?"

"But I – you – " Marik was lost for words as he gazed in shock at Bakura. This didn't make any sense. "You hate me!"

"Fucking _hell_, how dense are you?" Bakura barely had to lean forwards as he pressed his lips to Marik's, moving aggressively against him despite the lack of response. It only lasted a second before Bakura was speaking again, leaving Marik slack-jawed and in shock. "You fucking _idiot_, Ishtar."

Marik just stared, his mind stumbling and tripping to attempt to catch up with whatever Bakura was trying to tell him. Did this mean – did Bakura not hate him at all? Did Bakura actually _like_ him? Why would he – why would he even - ?

What?!

Bakura growled at Marik's lack of response, leaning back imperceptibly. It was enough to pull Marik out of his daze, though. Brown fingers curled around black-sleeved arms, pulling Bakura's attention back onto him. Marik was still in shock, but he had enough of his wits about him to form a coherent sentence – at least, he hoped he did. "You have a really fucking strange way of showing that you like someone."

"I don't _like_ you, Ishtar," Bakura growled, but he stopped talking at Marik's flashing eyes.

The fingers on Bakura's arms tightened as Marik leaned away from the wall, pulling the pale student towards him and joining their lips in a heated, desperate kiss.

At first, Bakura was too stunned to move. Marik was demanding, his hands sliding up Bakura's arms to tangle in his hair, tilting his head to get the best angle to attack him. Bakura stumbled back a step, his eyes going wide. Marik quickly took advantage, latching his arms around Bakura's neck as he pushed away from the wall, prying his mouth open and brushing their tongues together.

Bakura's senses finally returned.

He slammed back into Marik, kissing him deeply as he slid his arms around his waist, catching Marik's hips and crushing them against his own. Marik couldn't hold back a moan, bucking against Bakura as he tangled his fingers in white hair. Bakura span them around, Marik's back connecting with the wall again, and he found himself relishing the strength in Bakura's arms as he held them close together, never breaking the kiss. Marik couldn't hold back a low, "Mmm," when Bakura's hands wound their way under his shirt, grazing the silky skin of his stomach.

Bakura grinned against his lips. "You're so fucking clueless, you know that?"

"Stop talking," Marik growled, bucking against him impatiently and tightening his stranglehold around Bakura's neck. "And you didn't exactly make it obvious."

"You're just stupidly unobservant," Bakura chuckled, swallowing Marik's protest with another deep kiss.

"Mmm..." Marik couldn't resist moving closer, his fingers gliding down Bakura's chest and inside his black jacket, tracing the lines of muscle he knew were waiting under the fabric. Bakura growled, his fingers tugging at the hem of Marik's shirt before he pulled away just a little. Marik met his gaze with a frown. "What?"

"Just..." Bakura tilted his head, his brown gaze searing. "This means you're not leaving, right?"

Marik couldn't hold back a smirk as he wound his fingers around Bakura's waist. "Are you that desperate?"

"You're a fucking brat," Bakura hissed.

Marik just laughed at him. "Well, if ... if what you were saying earlier means what I think it means, then yes, I will stay."

"But you -" Bakura stopped, gliding further out of Marik's reach as he met his gaze.

Marik frowned, annoyed at the loss of contact. "I what?"

"You ... hate me." Bakura kept his tone carefully neutral, his eyes boring into Marik's. "Every time you initiated something – kissing me, fucking me, whatever – you ran away and acted like it never happened. You hate me. So what the hell is this, now?"

Marik was brought up short. He frowned, thinking it over, chewing his swollen bottom lip before glancing back at Bakura. "I don't hate you. I thought _you_ hated _me_. I thought you'd kill me if I tried anything. That's why I wanted to leave – you have always made it perfectly clear that I am not wanted around here."

"That hasn't been true for a while," Bakura interrupted, his expression unreadable. Marik almost wanted to call it gentle.

Marik took a step away from the wall, edging closer to Bakura before wrapping a hand around his, meeting his gaze hesitantly. "So – what, you _like_ me?"

"I..." Bakura blinked, frown instantly covering his features again. "Goddammit, Marik, you are not getting a fucking confession out of me."

Marik laughed, sliding another step closer, both arms winding around Bakura's waist. "If you want me to stick around, you're going to have to."

"Fucking brat," Bakura hissed.

Marik's violet eyes were dancing. "Insulting me is not the best way to get back in my good books."

Bakura rolled his eyes, his hands coming to rest on Marik's shoulders as he tugged him nearer. "I fucking hate you."

"Love you, too," Marik grinned before joining his lips with Bakura's.

**It ends fairly abruptly, I know, but I didn't feel up to writing another lemon, so... ^_^ The first half of this was written yesterday when I was feeling very unwell, and as a result I think the second half (written this morning) is of better quality, which makes the whole chapter feel really bitty and uneven to me. Sorry about that. *Sigh*. Anyway, next week's updates will hopefully both be on time, all being well. Thank you for reading! - Jem**


	13. Chapter 13

**So, another update! It carries directly on from the end of last chapter, which is why I included the last bits of that one at the start. This update has a lot of fluff, haaa. I love fluff, couldn't resist. Having said that, though, there is a lemon at the start of this chapter. Proceed with caution if you don't like smut. ^_^ **

**I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter. Life is being rather difficult just now, but I didn't want to not update today, so I've only included about half of what I was going to. Thursday's update will probably be the next half. There are probably lots of typos, but I just do not have the energy to find them right now - please, if you see any, let me know and I'll fix them. Anyway, I hope you still like it, and thank you to everyone reviewing – you all make my day. – Jem**

_Bakura rolled his eyes, his hands coming to rest on Marik's shoulders as he tugged him nearer. "I fucking hate you."_

_"Love you, too," Marik grinned before joining his lips with Bakura's._

Bakura kissed back, his arms winding around Marik's neck as he jerked him forwards again, exhaling slowly. Marik settled happily into his embrace, giving short sweet kisses until he pulled away and rested his forehead against Bakura's, the two just watching each other for a long moment.

Bakura's brown eyes blinked and he smirked slyly, running his fingers slowly down Marik's sides until he met the hem of his shirt. Marik moved closer, his hips meeting Bakura's as he held them together, arms tight around Bakura's waist. Marik pressed his lips to the crook of Bakura's neck before murmuring sensuously, "Is this going where I think it's going?"

"If you promise not to freak out this time," Bakura chuckled, running his hands under Marik's shirt and tugging the material off quickly. "You would have thought I'd murdered your family or something, with the way you reacted last time."

Marik snorted, quickly stripping Bakura of his shirt and kissing him harshly, pushing him over towards the bed. "Considering I'm not drunk this time, the chances of an overreaction are decreased. And I wasn't _that_ bad, considering you preyed on a drunk teenager."

"Fucking brat." Bakura's lips met Marik's again as he span them around, pushing Marik down onto the bed. Marik hissed when his back hit the sheets, pushing up instantly only for Bakura to slam him back down again, grinning.

Marik glared. "Move."

"Fuck no." Bakura easily straddled Marik, pinning his wrists as he caught him in another kiss.

Marik turned his head irritably, attempting to sit up against Bakura's strong hold. "Let me up."

Bakura's only answer was a smirk before he bent down and claimed Marik's lips again, this time grinding down into Mari's hips. Marik was lost in pleasure when Bakura slid against him, arching his back and mewling as pale fingers slid down his bare chest, pausing when they reached his belt buckle. Bakura broke the kiss and slid further down Marik's body, concentrating on undoing the strap.

Marik took advantage, bucking up and rolling, forcing Bakura beneath him and kissing him again. "I am not undressing unless you do, too."

"Gladly," Bakura snorted, his eyes dancing. "But you might want to let me up."

"Like hell." Marik made quick work of undressing Bakura, kissing him again and grinding down. Bakura bit back a growl and sat up, forcing Marik far enough away that he could get a finger in his belt buckle. Marik took the hint, stripping so they were both bare and tackling Bakura back down.

Marik relished in the heated exchange of kisses, still a little in shock that Bakura actually wanted this. There was something beyond lust in Bakura's eyes as he flashed them up at Marik, something softer and entirely more appealing, sending heat coursing through Marik's veins and pooling sensuously in his gut. Marik was distracted by the gentle movements of Bakura's hands as they slid up his arms, caressing his skin – that was, until his grip tightened and he moved, and Marik's back was slammed into the sheets once more.

Marik glared petulantly up at him. "There is no way I'm letting you lead."

"Just you try and fucking stop me." Bakura's tone was tinged with amusement as he straddled Marik again, grinding just enough to produce a cry from Marik as he reached into his bedside table.

Marik squirmed, attempting to wriggle away only for Bakura to come back and capture his wrists, leaning right over him and kissing him slowly. Marik wrinkled his nose when Bakura pulled away. "No one dominates me."

"That's what you get for being such a fucking tease for so long." Bakura's hands went to Marik's hips before sliding down his thighs, parting his legs and settling between them. Marik growled, instinctively scrabbling away only for Bakura to bring him back, grinning.

Marik sniffed. "I wasn't a tease. I thought you hated me."

"Why you would think that, I have no clue." Bakura shook his head, retrieving the bottle he had grabbed from the bedside table. "I even kissed you when you first told me you were leaving."

Marik pursed his lips, watching Bakura's fingers warily as he coated them. "You were too confusing. One minute you were yelling at me, the next you were making out with me."

"I forgot how socially inept you are." Bakura smirked at him, leaning forwards again to plant a sensual kiss on Marik's lips. "I promise not to tease you in the future. Too much."

"Arrogant bastard." Marik latched back onto him, wrapping his legs around Bakura's waist and pulling him closer, loving the friction when their bodies touched. Bakura kissed him again, his eyes sliding closed as he slid one coated finger down Marik's chest and between his legs. Marik hissed at the intrusion, scrabbling away, but Bakura held him tightly.

Their gazes met. Bakura muttered, "Are you going to let me in?"

"Does it..." Marik swallowed his question, his eyes instantly narrowing as he dared Bakura to laugh.

Bakura stifled a smirk. "It doesn't hurt for long."

"You'd better be fucking worth it," Marik muttered, parting his legs again and allowing Bakura to move. He wriggled against the strange sensation but Bakura was soon distracting him, kissing him deeply, tangling the fingers of his free hand in Marik's hair. Marik kissed back gratefully, reminding himself that this was _Bakura_ touching him, and it felt absolutely electric. Bakura slid his fingers out of him soon enough, coating himself quickly before parting Marik's legs further and resting against him, kissing the side of Marik's neck.

"I know this is your first time," he breathed against Marik's neck, "So I'll go gentle, ok? Just be patient."

Marik nodded, his fingers latching onto Bakura's shoulders as the pale student moved above him. Marik kept his eyes on Bakura's chest at the first thrust forwards, drawing in a hissing breath and wincing, his nails digging lines into the pale skin under them. Bakura bent down and kissed him again, whispering, "You've got to relax for me, alright?"

"Relax?" Marik hissed back, clenched completely around Bakura. "How the hell am I meant to do that?"

Bakura held back a chuckle, sitting back on his knees and running his hands around Marik's thighs, massaging the back of them as he lifted Marik up slightly. "Trust me. Relax."

Bakura's fingers dug into Marik's skin and he mewled, feeling himself relaxing imperceptibly as Bakura moved deeper. "Ughh..."

"I know," Bakura hissed, his breathing laboured. Marik risked a look at his face and almost gasped at the look of restrained pleasure covering Bakura's features; his eyes were dark slits in his pale face, white strands of hair sticking to his forehead as he edged forwards another tiny amount. Marik couldn't hold back a groan, his muscles clenching again and eliciting a hiss from Bakura. Their gazes met and Bakura leaned forwards, kissing Marik before muttering against his lips, "Come here. I have an idea."

Marik frowned but obeyed, pushing himself on his elbows and trying to ignore the uncomfortable squirm in his backside. Bakura's arms wrapped around Marik's back, dancing lightly over the scars as he pulled him up onto his lap. Marik wriggled, slight grimace crossing his face until Bakura whispered, "Just stay there," before he fell back to lie on the bed.

Marik drew in a sharp breath when Bakura lay prone under him, feeling himself grow harder at the mere sight. Bakura's eyes were squeezed shut, his fingers digging into the sheets beneath him as he adjusted to Marik's weight before opening his eyes a crack and smirking. "You get to move, now."

Marik blinked, slowly understanding what Bakura was getting at. He placed his hands on Bakura's pale chest, leaning over him a little more and pushing himself up, hissing a little at the strange sensation. Bakura slid a hand up Marik's arm to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing under one eye as he smirked. "Now you have to go back down."

"I get the gist," Marik snapped, ignoring Bakura's low laugh as he moved down.

Both students ceased talking and gasped when Marik sank fully down on Bakura. Marik couldn't help closing his eyes, his muscles clenching and eliciting a low growl from Bakura, who's fingers moved to grip tightly onto Marik's hips. Marik's eyes flew open again and he grinned at the look on Bakura's face; the pale student was completely at his mercy. Enjoying the sight immensely, Marik lifted up again, picking up the pace as he grew more used to this new position, his legs held tightly either side of Bakura's hips. Bakura couldn't help moving with him, the feeling of being surrounded so completely absolutely overwhelming.

Marik stopped, surprised when he felt Bakura's hips smack into his, but he soon adjusted and pushed back against him, friction increasing. Then Bakura's thrust hit deeper and Marik's head arched back, a startled cry tearing from between his lips as his eyes screwed tightly shut. He instantly moved again, pushing down as far as he could, searching for that one spot. Bakura grinned, knowing what Marik was after; he opened his eyes to see Marik's ecstatic expression just as he gave a deliberate thrust upwards, aim perfect.

Marik practically screamed, the noise coming from his mouth sending delicious shivers all up Bakura's spine. The pace picked up now as they both eagerly sought pleasure for the other, skin smacking together as each got close to the edge. Almost unbearable heat pooled low in Marik's stomach, gathering with each thrust until it was almost painful. Bakura caught his expression and, with a few quick flicks of his pale wrist, Marik exploded with a cry. His muscles clenched, sending Bakura over the edge too, legs tangling together as Bakura pulled Marik down, peppering his neck with kisses. Both students lay in ecstasy, breathing heavily against each other as they slowly came down from the high, lying in prefect relaxation.

Bakura was the first to move, his breathing still a little laboured. "Shift, Ishtar," he growled, shoving Marik's shoulder lightly. "You're heavy."

Marik merely sent him a glare, refusing to move.

Bakura rolled his eyes, lifting himself up on his elbows and sliding Marik off. "If you're that tired, we'll actually go to bed."

Marik arched a brow, pointedly looking at the sheets they were lying on before staring at Bakura, the corners of his lips twitching.

"Yes, I know full well that we're on my bed," Bakura growled irritably. "But we're not _in_ it. I'm not getting cold."

Marik yawned, begrudgingly shifting around to the head of the bed and crawling under the covers, Bakura following suit. As soon they were both comfortable Marik firmly rolled on top of Bakura again, throwing an arm across his chest and burying his head in the crook of Bakura's neck. Bakura scoffed quietly, one hand reaching up to lay gently in Marik's golden hair. "You know, cuddling isn't a compulsory after-affect of sex."

"Shut up," Marik commanded sleepily, his eyes sliding closed. "It's easier this way."

Bakura merely snorted, ruffling Marik's hair slightly. Marik, as ever, ignored him, curling further into his side and soon drifting into sleep. Bakura watched him quietly, loving the way his warm weight leaned into Bakura's chest, the rise and fall of their breathing in almost exact rhythm. An unreadable expression crossed Bakura's face; his free arm lifted to brush Marik's exposed torso, adjusting the covers slightly, pulling them closer to Marik's chin. Marik shifted a bit in his sleep, unconsciously cuddling closer, and Bakura couldn't stop himself from wrapping his free arm tightly around Marik's shoulders, enclosing him.

Bakura continued to watch the Egyptian in his arms well into the night before his own mind finally found the haven of sleep.

...

Marik awoke slowly the next morning, warm sheets pulled up to his chin and a familiar calming noise brushing his ears. Stretching luxuriously, Marik opened his eyes and was instantly reminded of the last time he woke up in this room; the scene was almost identical, but his reaction this time could not be more different. The room was still a mess, Bakura's clothes littering the carpet along with a couple of items Marik spotted as his own. The piano was playing again, but when Marik turned sleepy violet eyes in its direction he met a dark brown gaze searing straight at him, a very familiar smirk pulling at one corner of pale lips. Marik instantly felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Bakura turned back to the piano after a moment, his fingers easily picking out a melody. "Well, you haven't stormed out of my room yet. So far, so good."

Marik released a low chuckle, stretching again before sitting up, the covers gathering around his waist as he tossed Bakura a wink. "I only do that when I'm in the mood."

"In _a_ mood, more like. You are the sulkiest teenager I've ever met." Bakura smirked from beneath hooded lashes, easily dodging Marik's projectile. He rolled his eyes. "If you could refrain from throwing things around my room, I would be eternally grateful."

Marik sniffed, crawling down the bed towards Bakura. "You shouldn't have brought me in here, then."

"As I recall, you were in here when I arrived," Bakura pointed out with a grin. "Destroying my piano, if I remember correctly."

Marik glared, his eyes flashing as he stopped just at the edge of the piano stool, his brows furrowing as he fixed Bakura with a hard stare. "I was trying to remember what you showed me, that's all."

Bakura's lips stretched, his brown eyes dancing. "Oh, come on. I taught you the easiest chord; you should at least have been able to remember _that_."

"Is that a challenge I sense?" Marik crawled fully off the bed, shoving Bakura down the stool a little as he sat beside him.

Bakura scoffed, but the sound was light. "If you think you can remember."

Marik's only response was a haughty sniff before he lifted his hands a little, examining the keys carefully. If he could just picture what Bakura had showed him ... he was almost sure that the notes had all been white, but he couldn't remember what the gaps between his fingers should be. Hesitantly, ignoring Bakura's teasing gaze, Marik gently rested his fingers against the keys, adjusting them slightly before attempting to press them down. A soft dissonance rang through the air.

"Close," Bakura admitted, shifting up the stool and wrapping one arm around Marik's shoulders. "You're a little off in a place or two, though."

"It's damn hard to remember," Marik grumbled discontentedly, leaning against Bakura's side with a small sigh. Bakura wrapped his fingers around Marik's, adjusting them until they were against the right keys, and pressed down; a bright chord sounded happily, and Marik grinned.

Bakura caught his proud expression and shook his head, his lips twitching. "There's nothing to get excited about. C major is the easiest, and I still had to show you how to do it."

"Whatever," Marik responded with a yawn, resting his head on Bakura's shoulder. "I'm tired. Ask me again when I'm more awake."

Bakura snorted softly, pulling Marik closer and wrapping his arms around his torso. Marik snuggled happily into the embrace, enjoying the feeling of being held so securely; his skin burned wherever they touched. Bakura laid his head in Marik's hair, breathing in his scent and enjoying the closeness they finally shared, tightening his grip when Marik shifted further along the stool and turned his head, nuzzling Bakura's neck. Bakura dropped a kiss to the top of his head before chuckling softly, "You're such an idiot, you know that?"

"I thought you'd be less offensive now," Marik grumbled, stifling another yawn.

Bakura scoffed. "As if. You are far too easy to tease."

"Bastard." Marik's response was half-hearted, though, and diminished somewhat by him pressing himself closer, practically sitting on Bakura's lap. Bakura rolled his eyes but allowed it, pulling Marik's legs over his own and placing his hands on either side of Marik's face, tilting his head up. They stared at each other for a moment, Marik's eyes clouded with sleep but clear enough to pick out the strangely unreadable expression crossing Bakura's features.

Bakura continued to stare at him for a moment longer before leaning forwards and kissing him slowly, full on the lips. Marik smiled when he pulled away, tilting his head to the side. "What was that for?"

Bakura remained quiet, keeping Marik's head firmly in place, not allowing him to look away. Marik arched a brow, about to question further but Bakura silenced him with another deep kiss, leaving Marik almost breathless when he pulled away. Bakura quietly rested their foreheads together, leaving another moment of comfortable silence before speaking. "I was just making sure I can still do that. Without you freaking out, I mean."

Marik blinked. He supposed Bakura's words made sense, though – so many times Marik had pushed Bakura away, refusing to have anything to do with him, overreacting over everything. In fairness, Marik thought with a small twitch of his lips, Bakura hadn't exactly made his feelings obvious. Looking calmly into Bakura's burning eyes, Marik knew that things had settled between them now; despite how explosive their relationship had been so far, Marik found comfort in the knowledge that Bakura wanted him around.

So it was that Marik dig his fingers into Bakura's shoulders, pulling the pale student forwards into a mouth-searing kiss.

Bakura's eyes slid closed as he tugged Marik nearer, running his hands up tanned sides. Marik's arms wound around his neck, anchoring himself as he firmly pried Bakura's lips apart, running his tongue along Bakura's and exploring his mouth with a new tenacity. Bakura released a low moan, his fingers scrabbling up Marik's back. Marik froze when they brushed his scars.

Bakura pulled back and opened his eyes, a small crease appearing in his brow. "What?"

Marik's jaw set. "You know full well 'what'. Get your hands away from there."

"You didn't seem to mind last night," Bakura smirked, lowering his lashes.

Marik easily slid off Bakura's lap and onto the piano stool, crossing his hands irritably and fixing Bakura with a glare. "Yes, and thanks to last night, they are now sore and painful. You didn't have to slam me into the mattress so fucking hard."

"I heard no complaints." Bakura's smirk widened into a grin. "Besides, you were worse when you were fucking me."

"I was drunk! I can barely even remember it." Marik screwed his face up, disgruntled.

Bakura merely laughed at him, wincing when Marik whacked his arm. "Ouch. Sadist. Fine, turn around; let me have a look at your back."

"I'm just fine, thank you," Marik sniffed primly, lifting his nose into the air.

Bakura shot him a sly look, smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, before he stood in one fluid motion and easily swept Marik off the stool and into his arms. A startled exclamation just made its way through Marik's lips as he was swiftly carried across the room, Bakura depositing him unceremoniously on the bed before he turned away and rummaged in a bag in a corner. Marik rubbed the back of his neck, brows furrowing together. "The fuck was that?"

"Only way I could get you to obey me," Bakura shrugged with a low chuckle. "You're too damn stubborn for your own good."

Marik growled. "You're a bastard."

"So you keep telling me." Bakura finally straightened, small tub in hand. "Aha! Got it. Now, are you going to sit still, or am I going to have to tie you down?"

Marik shot Bakura a dark, dark glare, his violet eyes narrowed into miniscule slits in his brown face.

Bakura, completely unfazed, strode back over to the bed and crawled up behind Marik, firmly spinning around and ignoring his protestations. "Just shut it, Ishtar. I'm helping you here."

"I thought I told you not to call me that?" Marik grumbled, instantly wincing when Bakura's hands once more brushed his burning scars. His eyes watered.

Bakura gave another dark chuckle. "Since when did I listen to you?"

Marik bit back a retort when one white hand snagged on a particularly painful scar, sucking in a breath and cursing under his breath. "Fuck. What are you doing back there, trying to kill me?"

"Don't exaggerate, Ishtar." Bakura kept working, ignoring his winces. "And calm down – this helped you before."

Marik hissed, arching uncomfortably when Bakura's cold hands rubbed into his scars. "Fucking hell, are you trying to mutilate me?"

"If you took better care of them," Bakura dug in particularly harshly, eliciting a harsh yelp from Marik, "Then it wouldn't hurt so much. These are bleeding again, idiot."

Marik growled. "Well, if _someone_ hadn't felt the need to fuck me last night, I wouldn't be in so much pain."

"Don't blame this all on me," Bakura chuckled. "Just sit still and let me work."

Marik grumbled but reluctantly complied, digging his fingers into the mattress as Bakura carried on scratching away at his back. Bakura worked quickly but thoroughly, ensuring that the cream coated all of Marik's scars as he slid his fingers lower, lingering longer than was necessary against the warm tanned flesh. Marik hissed when Bakura started massaging, pain suddenly mixing with pleasure. His eyes slid shut.

Bakura chuckled, breath floating across the back of Marik's neck as he brushed golden locks out of his way. "Better?"

"You're a bastard." Marik couldn't help leaning back though, sighing when he felt Bakura's arms wrap around him. "How did you even get hold of that cream?"

"...Let's just say I acquired it." Bakura's tone was chilling, but softened somewhat by the gentle kiss he laid on the top of Marik's head.

Marik grinned. "Did you steal it just for me?"

Bakura growled in the back of his throat, keeping Marik securely facing forwards. His fingers dug into Marik's arms.

"You did, didn't you?" Marik spoke in something close to awe, his violet eyes widening. "You actually went out and stole for me."

Bakura's silence spoke volumes.

Marik shook his head, wide grin stretching his lips and splitting his face in half. "You must have liked me for a long time. It must have been torture."

Bakura finally moved, growling deep in his throat. His arms tightened around Marik, pulling him back into Bakura's chest, their legs tangling together on the mattress. Bakura's lips found Marik's ear, biting at his lobe before that low dark voice hissed, "It was a fucking nightmare, and you're such a fucking tease."

"I don't know what gives you that idea." Marik couldn't keep the amusement out of his tone, or the amusement out of his glimmer eyes when he turned to face Bakura, straddling his waist.

Bakura growled, his brown eyes flashing. "Would you like a reminder?"

Before Marik could respond his back was hitting the mattress again as Bakura leaned over him, brows furrowed, tone low and furious. Marik didn't even bother struggling as his wrists were pinned effectively. He suddenly found himself relieved that Bakura had treated his back; otherwise, this would be very painful.

Bakura sat on Marik's stomach, glaring down at him. "You fucking bastard. You just had to play with me, didn't you? Flouncing around in here with your stupid ignorance and ridiculous childishness, acting up and backchatting me with no damn respect. But then you had to go and be fucking _cute._"

"Cute?" Marik risked looking vaguely amused. "Not a word I ever expected to hear coming out of your mouth."

Bakura snarled, leaning over Marik and shutting him up with a kiss. "Fucking brat. Following me around everywhere, looking so damn _enraptured_ whenever I played piano, turning up at that shitty concert and looking so damn happy. Then actually _kissing_ me, and I thought hell, maybe for once something's going right, but of course you had to freak out."

"I thought you hated me," Marik remarked calmly.

Bakura glared. "Shut up."

Marik arched a brow but obediently remained silent, small thrills of happiness coursing through his veins at Bakura's every word.

"You, Ishtar, freaked out exactly like the idiot you are. At first it was just fun to wind you up, but then you showed up at the club and you were _so_ drunk and _so_ eager, how was I supposed to say no? Only, of course you had another fucking breakdown in the morning and stormed out." Bakura shook his head, breathing heavily. "And then you tried to leave! Damn idiot, as if I was ever going to let you."

Marik tilted his head to the side a little. "In my defence, you never exactly showed that you wanted me to say. The number of times you've beaten me up, I swear..."

"Only because you're so damn dense," Bakura retorted, smirk tugging at his lips. "In case you haven't noticed by now, I don't usually voluntarily spend time with _anyone_. You're lucky I didn't make your life a living hell from the second you walked in here."

"You mean that was you being _nice_?!" Marik grinned. "You have a lot to work on, Bakura."

Bakura rolled his eyes, collapsing down onto Marik's chest and closing his eyes. "Insolent little shit."

"That's me, bastard." Marik chuckled, wrapping his arms around Bakura to keep him in place, loving the warm weight pressing down on his skin. "So, for how long have you been in love with me, exactly?"

Bakura growled. "I never said that, Ishtar."

"You've pretty much just confessed your undying love to me," Marik pointed out with a grin. "It's only fair I get to know how long I've been driving you crazy for."

Bakura cracked open one eye, lifting his head just enough to send Marik a mischievous stare. "Only on the condition that you tell me just what has been going on in that bipolar head of yours. One minute you're kissing me, the next you're yelling at me. I haven't got a clue what you're thinking."

Marik laughed. "Fair enough. You first, though."

"...Fine." Bakura laid back against Marik's chest, closing his eyes with a long drawn out sigh. "I guess I was ... _attracted_ ... from the moment you first showed me your scars. Instantly I thought, 'well, here is someone actually _interesting_ for once.' Of course, I soon realised just how stupid you were and decided you were a lost cause."

Marik whacked him playfully on the shoulder. "Don't call me stupid, bastard."

"Idiot." Bakura grinned. "You _did_ ask."

"You're still a bastard." Marik shook his head, mock-frowning.

Bakura merely chuckled darkly. "Calm down. It's your turn to spill now, Ishtar. What the hell is going on with you?"

"Well..." Marik fell silent, turning the question over in his mind carefully before answering. "I know I've probably seemed very confusing to you, but really, I've never hated you. I thought _you_ hated _me._ You never did anything to make me think you actually liked you, so I figured I was just an irritation to you; that was what made me think I had to get out. Then we'd both be happier."

"Like I said," Bakura smirked. "You're an idiot."

Marik rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, putting two fingers under Bakura's chin and tilting his face up. "Hey, you should start being nicer to me if you want me to stick around."

"Like you'd leave now," Bakura scoffed, but the noise was quiet.

Marik smiled, leaning down to brush his lips with Bakura's. "I suppose. At least if I stay here, I have you to fetch and carry for me."

"Watch it, Ishtar." Bakura's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Marik shrugged, his eyes dancing. "Just get over here."

"Gladly." Bakura moved up Marik's body, kissing him gently before lying back down. Marik tucked him into his chest, pulling his fingers gently through Bakura's tangled white hair, closing his eyes. They lay together peacefully, occasionally exchanging kisses, and allowed the day to pass them by.

**So, yeah, sorry for the lack of anything interesting in that chapter. I hope it still pleased you, such as it is, and I promise a return to plot on Thursday. Thank you for reading. - Jem**


	14. Chapter 14

**Grrr, I'm late again, sorry. Everything just seems to be against me actually updating on time at the moment. . Anyway, you'll be glad to hear that there is a bit more plot this time hehe, except there is of course fluff as well (in fact, it's still mostly fluff. Oops. ^_^). It's another relatively short chapter, because basically this one and last update were meant to all be one chapter, but I am ill and couldn't get it all out on Tuesday. It's messed up my plan a bit, but not too badly, so I'm hoping everything will still flow ok, and sorry again for being useless and turning out such short chapters late. I shall endeavour to do better in the future. Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing, and to you all for being patient with me!**

**Oh, and because I keep forgetting to say this: I definitely do not own Yu-Gi-Oh, and I do not in any way claim ownership of any of the characters in this story. Kazuki Takahashi owns them all.**

**Anyway, enough of me boring you. On with the chapter! - Jem**

Unfortunately for Bakura and Marik, their comfortable reverie was disturbed somewhat when a flow of piano notes, for once not made by Bakura, echoed through the room from a phone that lay ringing on the desk. Marik groaned softly, reluctantly opening his eyes and giving a rather harsh jab to the mess of white that was sprawled across his chest, digging his nails in. "Oi. Get up."

A long low growl vibrated across Marik's chest.

Violet eyes rolled. "Phone. Go get it, idiot."

"You get it." The mass of white moved and a yawn stretched pale lips wide before Bakura crashed back onto Marik's chest, curling up and firmly closing his eyes.

Marik shook his head, threading brown fingers through white hair, an amused grin spreading slowly across Marik's face. "That sure as hell isn't my ring tone, so it's got to be yours. Get off your lazy ass and answer it."

Bakura opened his eyes a crack, just enough to send Marik a lethal glare. Marik just grinned at him, continuing to tug at strands of white hair until the phone finally stopped ringing. Bakura flashed Marik a smirk before he lay back down on Marik's chest, his eyes closing and his arms wrapping securely around Marik's chest. "See? No need for me to get it."

"It might have been important," Marik chided.

Bakura snorted. "If it was, they'll call back. Besides, I don't see why you're complaining – don't pretend you're not comfortable."

"With you sprawled all over me?" Marik scoffed, pulling a little too tightly on Bakura's hair. "I'd be much more comfortable without your added weight, thank you very much."

Bakura merely yawned, pointedly rolling further onto Marik and settling down; it didn't help when the phone started up again, soft piano music brushing Marik's ears. He groaned, poking Bakura's side. "It's for you, bastard."

Bakura snarled, predictably staying put.

Marik hissed, his eyes gaining a wicked gleam as he wrapped his arms around Bakura's torso. Taking the pale student completely by surprise, Marik grasped him and firmly rolled sideways, deliberately pushing Bakura off the bed. Bakura flailed, letting out a shout of surprise, his eyes widened comically as he landed heavily on the carpet, turning a baleful brown stare on Marik. Marik burst into fits of laughter, hugging his stomach and falling back onto the bedsheets, his face creased into amusement. Bakura's brow furrowed. "You are going to pay for that, Ishtar."

"Just answer your damn phone," Marik forced out between chuckles. "And shut up the crap music."

Bakura sniffed, clambering to his feet and making for his desk. "Debussy is perfectly pleasant to listen to, actually."

"Not when I'm trying to sleep, it isn't," Marik remarked with a yawn.

Bakura tossed him a sly wink. "So, it's only when _I'm_ playing that you like to fall asleep to piano music, is it?"

"I – no – what?" Marik blinked, sitting up and glaring at Bakura. "Don't get a big head. How the fuck do you even know that?"

Bakura just winked, finally getting to his phone just as it stopped ringing for the second time. Bakura swore. "Dammit, Ishtar. You got me out of bed just for that?!"

"Your fault for being too slow." Marik lay back down, curling up on the bed with the sheets tangled around him as he gazed sleepily up at Bakura, who was sending him a dangerous glower. Marik just waved him away. "Call whoever it was back. Problem solved."

"You're a fucking nightmare," Bakura growled. He obediently scooped his phone up, though, sitting back on the edge of the bed as he pulled up the caller ID. A sly smirk stretched across his face. "Well, well. This could be interesting."

Marik frowned suspiciously when Bakura flicked the phone up to his ear, a crease appearing in his forehead as he crawled to where the pale student was sitting. "What? Who is it?"

Bakura didn't reply; just winked.

Marik's suspicion didn't leave his features as he came up to sit beside Bakura, frowning at the phone and examining Bakura's expression. Bakura's smirk widened when the person on the other end picked up, speaking in a slow drawl, "Well, good morning, Kek. What is it that brings you to me on a day like this?"

Marik's jaw dropped. "Kek? _My_ Kek?"

Bakura ignored him in favour of laughing down the phone. "Oh, afternoon is it, now? I've been a little _busy,_ so I lost track of time."

"My cousin has your number?" Marik's frown deepened as something sank deep in his gut, causing him to wriggle uncomfortably. "_I_ don't even have your number. And don't you dare tell him about this, Bakura, or I won't hesitate to kill you."

Bakura shot Marik a sly grin. "What's that, Kek? Sorry, your cousin was talking over you."

"I am fucking _warning you_," Marik hissed, his violet eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Tell him nothing."

Bakura's brown eyes shimmered with mirth. "Yes, Kek, you could say that. Marik's certainly been keeping me busy ... Well, naturally. Yes, I'm sorry, tell Kaiba I can't meet him today, much as I'd love to. I'm not really planning on getting out of bed."

Marik's jaw set.

Bakura sent him a wicked smirk as he continued speaking into the phone. "Yes, Marik's here. I persuaded him not to leave ... Well, the fact that we're still in bed now speaks for itself, doesn't it? Of course I've been fucking him all night."

Raucous laughter sounded down the line and Marik howled, lunging across the bed and knocking Bakura backwards. "I warned you! I fucking warned you, fucking _bastard!_"

Bakura threw a hand against Marik's forehead, attempting to hold him at arm's length even as he chuckled into the phone. "Oh, yes, I'm sure he'd just _love_ to speak with you, but he's otherwise occupied just now..."

"Give me that!" Marik roared, throwing his full weight at Bakura and succeeding in knocking the phone out of his grip. "Fucking asshole!" Grabbing the phone, Marik sat determinedly on Bakura's waist to keep him in place as he gasped down the line. "Kek! Whatever the hell you want, leave it until later!"

"Why?" Kek's tone was quite obviously laced with amusement, bubbling with laughter. "Did I catch you with his dick in your mouth, or what?"

Marik practically gagged, holding the phone as far away from his ear as he could and yelling into it. "What the hell? Kek! How is that any of your business?"

More cackling sounded through the receiver, so Marik gave up. Without even bothering to hang up, Marik chucked the phone across the room with enough force to make it bounce off the opposite wall before crawling up to the pillow and burying his face in it, groaning loudly. He knew his cousin, and Kek was _never_ going to let him live this down.

There was a rustle of sheets followed by a low chuckle, and then arms wrapped around Marik's back and pulled him into a warm chest. Breath tickled the back of his neck. "Please don't tell me you're freaking out again, Ishtar."

"You fucking told him!" Marik complained, allowing his eyes to slide shut.

He could feel Bakura's quiet laughter. "And why, pray tell, is that a problem?"

"Are you kidding me?" Marik turned around in Bakura's arms, meeting his glittering gaze with narrowed violet eyes. "Have you _met_ my cousin? He's difficult enough to shut up at the best of times, without you giving him ammo!"

"So?" Bakura's stare was bordering on insolent.

"So?!_ So?!_" Marik's voice shot up several octaves. "_So_, you fucking bastard, I am never going to be able to have a sensible conversation with him again! I hope you're fucking proud of yourself."

Bakura merely chuckled, his voice ruffling Marik's hair even as he pulled him closer. "You're such an oversensitive prick."

Marik growled low in his throat, begrudgingly allowing himself to bury his head in Bakura's neck. As annoyed as he was, Marik had to admit that it was still exceedingly pleasant to be held so close to another, wrapped so securely in someone else's arms. Particularly when that someone was Bakura, the guy who supposedly didn't care about anyone or anything. Marik couldn't help but feel a little flattered. That feeling only increased at Bakura's next words, muttered as they were directly into Marik's ear.

"Why shouldn't Kek know? Why shouldn't everyone know? You're _mine_, Ishtar, and the sooner everyone realises that the better."

Marik felt chills shiver down his spine, and for once they weren't unpleasant. He glanced up at Bakura, arching one eyebrow as he lifted himself until they were at eye level, both splayed out on the pillows. "Who says I'm yours?"

"Oh, come now." Bakura gave a feral grin, all sharp lips and teeth. "If you weren't, you wouldn't still be here. You're _mine_." With the last two words, Bakura's arms became almost painfully tight around Marik's torso, pulling them impossibly close together. Marik's nostrils flared when Bakura's familiar intoxicating scent surrounded him.

Marik felt one corner of his own mouth tug upwards as he rested his forehead against Bakura's, their gazes searing into one another's. He spoke quietly, breath mingling in the miniscule compartment of space between them. "Who says I'm yours? Who says it isn't the other way around, and in actual fact it is you that belongs to me?"

Bakura didn't blink; his only motion was a slight tightening of the creases around his eyes. "I'm a thief, Ishtar. I am not stolen; I steal."

"And what, you've stolen me?" Marik couldn't hold back a small chuckle. "You wish."

"Oh, but I have. I have, and I have absolutely no intention of giving you back." Bakura's familiar smirk was back in place as he rolled a little, pulling Marik up and onto his chest. "You're going nowhere, Ishtar."

Marik put up a small show of resistance before collapsing into Bakura's chest, releasing a small contended sigh. He curled up in Bakura's warmth for a moment, allowing himself to relax, before muttering, "I still wish you hadn't told Kek, though. He is going to make our lives _hell_."

"Your life, maybe." Bakura poked Marik's side, tone sardonic. "Unlike you, I can actually take a joke."

Marik shook his head, resting his chin on Bakura's chest as he stared straight at him, lips curling upwards at the corners. "You say that now. Wait until you've had months of him never talking about anything else, asking about every aspect of our sex lives, making fun over every little thing..."

"Making fun of _you_," Bakura pointed out slyly, "Which happens to be one of my favourite pastimes."

Marik rolled his eyes, deliberately digging his nails into Bakura's chest as he fixed him with a dark glare. "That's right. I forgot that you're just as much of a prick as my cousin is. Fucking bastards, the pair of you."

"Now, now, Ishtar." Bakura tapped him on the nose playfully, not even batting an eyelid at the scratches pricking at his pale skin. "I thought we were keeping this civil."

"Yes, because civility's your speciality." Marik scoffed, moving to roll off Bakura but finding strong arms preventing him. Marik sighed loudly, struggling. "Get the hell off me, asshole."

"I told you that you weren't going anywhere," Bakura pointed out sagely, dodging Marik's whack.

Marik just grinned. "Well, I _was_ going to make you food, but if you're going to be difficult..."

"Don't you try and threaten me, Ishtar," Bakura growled. "It wouldn't end well for you."

Marik burst into bright peals of laughter, pressing his forehead into Bakura's collarbone and grinning widely. "Oh, Bakura. You can't threaten me anymore, I'm afraid. I know you don't really mean any of it."

"Oh, really?" Bakura's voice was surprisingly chilling, surprising Marik a little, and before he had truly grasped what was happening Bakura had rolled him onto his front and was squatting on Marik's back, capturing his wrists easily and twisting them behind his back.

Marik rolled his eyes, spitting out sheets as he twisted his face in order to speak. "Let go of me, fucking asshole."

"You swear far too much, Ishtar."

"And you call me by my surname far too much!" Having enough of being pinned all the time, Marik kicked back and gave a low crow of triumph when his foot met malleable flesh, eliciting a slight yelp from Bakura. Marik moved the instant he felt the grip on his wrists loosen, kicking himself up off the bed and landing with a small wobble on Bakura's carpet. He span around, instantly crouching, only to find Bakura curled on the bed nursing his stomach, where a clear footprint was making itself known.

Marik couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

Bakura sent him a dark, dark glare, his brows knitting together as his mouth twisted into a snarl. Unfortunately for Bakura, this only served to increase Marik's laughter. Doubling over and wiping his eyes, Marik eventually gained a little more control over himself and straightened, shaking his head in Bakura's direction. "You're much more of a wimp than I thought you would be."

"Oh, you are fucking asking for it." Bakura lunged off the bed and tackled Marik onto the floor, ignoring his surprised shout as he clamped his lips down on Marik's neck. Marik instantly stopped struggling and instead released a low groan, fingers scrabbling to pull Bakura closer as his sensitive skin was ravaged by skilled lips and teeth. Bakura chuckled darkly against Marik's skin, giving one final lick before pulling back and admiring his handiwork; a rather impressive bruise now stood out against Marik's tan skin. "There, see? Told you that you're mine, Ishtar."

"Fucking asshole." Marik's voice still sounded breathless, though, which rather diminished the usual venom behind his words. His case was helped even less when his scrabbling hands found Bakura's face and lifted him up into a heated kiss.

Bakura allowed Marik to lick away at his tongue for a good minute before pulling away, hoisting himself up to his feet and turning away from Marik. Marik mewled, panting against the carpet and sending beseeching looks in the direction of the pale student, putting on his best pleading expression.

Bakura just laughed when he saw it. "Grow up, Ishtar. Put some clothes on and go make food – I'm going for a shower."

"I'm not your fucking slave," Marik grumbled, getting discontentedly to his feet.

Bakura's dark laugh floated back down from the corridor. "That's what you think, Ishtar!"

"Stop fucking calling me that!" Marik all but shouted the words after the insufferable idiot, grumbling irritably under his breath when he got no response. He hunted through the messy scraps of clothing on the floor until he found items he recognised as his own, tugging them on easily enough before exiting Bakura's room, one hand lingering over the wood of the piano as he passed. Heading into the kitchen, Marik yawned widely and stretched before hunting through the cupboards for anything remotely edible, in the end deciding that eggs on toast would suffice, and if Bakura thought it didn't, then he could damn well make his own.

Marik found himself smiling and humming to himself as he moved around the kitchen, his chest feeling lighter than it ever had before in this Godsforsaken country. He was starting to feel comfortable in this flat, starting to feel as if he had somewhere he belonged, and he knew that Bakura was a huge part of that. To think that Marik could actually be wanted by someone else was a totally alien thought, but it was far from unwelcome. And now that Marik thought about it, Bakura's feelings had been fairly obvious from the start – once you accepted that he was an absolute asshole, that is. Marik found himself grinning a little ruefully. It was no wonder they had argued so much, considering how they always pushed each other's buttons. Marik sighed happily as he worked, feeling months worth of tension rolling away from his shoulders simply at the knowledge that he had somewhere he could call home now.

It wasn't long before footsteps padded back down the hall and into Bakura's room, and soon after that Bakura himself appeared in the kitchen, fully dressed once more. He grinned at the sight of Marik. "That's right, Ishtar; take your rightful place, slaving away at the stove."

Marik turned just enough to give him the finger as he carried on cooking, deeming the eggs almost done and shoving toast onto a plate. "Just be grateful I don't poison your food. Fucking asshole."

"We really are going to have to do something about your swearing," Bakura mused mockingly, taking a seat at the table. He easily dodged the fork Marik chucked at him, chuckling loudly as he rested his chin on one pale hand. "If you're going to persist in throwing things at me, I'm going to chuck you out."

Marik arched an eyebrow as he approached the table with two plates, passing one to Bakura. He couldn't stifle a smirk when he sat opposite Bakura and met his laughing brown gaze, Marik's chin tilting up arrogantly. "Wasn't the whole point of yesterday you telling me just how you wouldn't let me leave? Somehow, I can't see you chucking me out now."

Bakura's brows lowered into a glower.

Marik snorted with laughter, continuing to dig at Bakura even as he started eating. "Yep, you might think you're the one in control here, but I reckon I've got you wrapped around my little finger. Can't live without me, huh?"

"Insufferable brat," Bakura snarled.

Marik just grinned at him.

They ate in comfortable silence until a knock at the door sounded. Both students glared at each other with equal amounts of stubbornness and determination, neither conceding to the other. Bakura spoke first, gesturing imperiously to Marik's empty plate. "You're finished – you go answer it."

"I made the food," Marik disagreed, leaning back and folding his arms. "Besides, as you like to keep pointing out, this is your flat. Whoever's at the door is bound to want you, not me."

Bakura glowered at him as the door was knocked again. Marik glared right back, stubbornly refusing to move, until the knocks increased in volume and frequency. Marik threw his hands up into the air. "Gods, fine! You're such a child sometimes."

"Coming from you," Bakura pointed out with a low chuckle, "That is _really_ rich."

Marik gave him the finger as he exited the kitchen, calling, "If it's Kek come to tease me some more, I am going to fucking _kill _you." Despite his angry words, though, Marik could feel amusement pulling at the corners of his lips as he threw the door to the flat open wide.

His expression fell immediately when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side.

Spiked hair hanging low over pale skin greeted Marik, a serious expression covering the calm features. Yami looked at Marik with a simple gaze. Silence held in the corridor for a long moment, during which Marik gaped hopelessly, before a calm voice spoke through the slow movements of Yami's lips. "Hello, Marik. You missed lectures this morning."

"Um, lectures?" Marik was still a little startled, his brain working much more slowly than it usually would. "Oh, fuck, lectures! I completely forgot we had them!"

"You also forgot you were meant to move out, it seems," the calm voice spoke again, tinged with a little amusement. "But that aside, I need to talk to Bakura."

Marik instantly blocked the way into the flat, shaking his head; he knew enough by now that mixing Bakura and Yami was never a good idea, and he _really_ didn't want to have to deal with Bakura's anger. Yami heaved a slow sigh, shaking his head. "Marik, I don't care what Bakura told you to get you to stay, but you have got to stop protecting him. He needs to start accepting his responsibilities."

Marik frowned, thoughts racing. "Are you talking about his brother?"

"Let me in, and you'll find out." Yami's lips twitched slightly.

Marik stared at him for a long moment before growling lowly, stepping aside and gesturing into the kitchen. "If he flips, I am blaming you entirely."

Yami just sent him a small smile before opening the door, entering the kitchen with slow steps.

Bakura groaned loudly when he saw who it was, giving Marik a dangerous glare when he entered behind Yami. "What the fuck did you let him in for?"

"You didn't tell me not to," Marik shrugged, eyes defiant.

Bakura rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, rising fluidly to his feet and pointedly making to walk past Yami. Yami stood in his path, eyes clear as he glanced up at Bakura.

Bakura glared back. "The fuck do you want? Get out of my flat."

"Ryou needs to talk to you," Yami started evenly. "I'm going home when term ends at the end of this week, and depending on how ill my Grandpa is, I'll be staying there for the whole of the holidays. Tea's coming to."

Bakura arched a brow, folding his arms. "And this concerns me how?"

"Because if my Grandpa ends up in hospital, Ryou will have nowhere to live." Yami's eyes dulled a little. "You're going to have to take responsibility for him at that point – I've got Yugi to think of."

Bakura released a loud laugh, the sound chilling and dark enough to lift all the hairs along Marik's arms. Marik watched with caution as Bakura and Yami stared each other down, the tension almost visibly crackling between them in the small, stuffy air of the flat. Marik was burning with curiousity, desperate to know what was going on between them, but one look at Bakura's frankly dangerous expression had him deciding against that. Or at least, to wait until Yami was safely out of the way.

As if reading Marik's thoughts, Yami sighed and drew back a step. "Look, I'm just passing on the news. Make of it what you will."

"I just find all this rather ironic, _dearest_ Yami." Bakura's voice was still chillingly amused, practically dripping sarcasm. "After all, you're the one who knows _all_ about family responsibility, right?"

Yami visibly winced, retreating another step, and Bakura released a low dark chuckle. "I think it best if you get out of my flat. And you ever try and tell me what to do again, I really won't hesitate to kill you."

Yami didn't argue; after one last look at Marik, he turned on his heel and left.

Bakura watched him go with a foreign expression covering his features, his lips twisted into an almost feral snarl and his brown eyes burning with a deep, furious intensity. With deliberate, controlled actions, Bakura left the kitchen and firmly locked the flat door, turning back to Marik with a darkly burning glare. "You ever let him in here again, I'll murder you. Slowly."

Marik arched a brow, standing his ground. "What the hell happened between you?"

"None of your damn business." Bakura's voice dripped controlled fury as he turned away from Marik, entering his bedroom. Marik shook his head, determinedly following Bakura even as he attempted to shut the door in Marik's face, sparks flying when their gazes met.

"Let me in," Marik spoke evenly. "It is my business if it concerns you."

Bakura growled. "Drop it, idiot."

"Well maybe I'll just leave, then," Marik shot back angrily. "Seeing as how you clearly don't want me to know anything about you, I'll just cut my losses and go -"

"Fucking _brat_!" In a flash Bakura had Marik against the wall of the corridor, brown eyes boring into him as he leaned in close. "Don't you _dare_ fucking leave me."

Marik breathed heavily, swallowing as he met Bakura's gaze. He could feel Bakura trembling. Marik shook his head, lifting his hands to catch onto Bakura's shoulders, holding him firmly in place so he couldn't escape his questions. "What gets you so riled about him? Why are you so insecure?"

"I'll show you fucking _insecure_." The venom had leaked out of Bakura's tone, though, and the pale student sagged a little in Marik's grip.

Marik moved carefully away from the wall, running his hands tenderly down Bakura's arms. With a small sigh, Bakura relaxed a little more, but his brown gaze was still fiery when it brushed Marik's, gaining an edgy glint. Marik didn't complain when Bakura moved closer. Their lips met for only the briefest second before Marik backed up a bit, though, fixing Bakura with a stern glare. "Whatever the hell is going on with you, don't take it out on me."

Bakura shrugged, smirk slowly lifting one corner of his mouth again. "Because you never take any of your problems out on me."

"That's entirely different," Marik sniffed haughtily, quickly getting distracted by the way Bakura's eyes were gleaming. Bakura's smirk stretched as he closed the distance between them, Marik's back finding the wall once more despite his best efforts to avoid it. Marik lifted his chin. "You're still going to tell me what the hell your problem is."

"The fuck I am." Bakura grinned, leaning over Marik with dancing eyes, just out of Marik's reach. Marik's gaze flared up at him, the heat coursing through his veins attempting to convince him to continue the questioning another time. He was only distracted further when Bakura bent enough to attach his lips to Marik's collarbone. Marik couldn't hold back a small groan.

Bakura chuckled darkly. "Just give in, Ishtar."

"Bastard," Marik hissed, grabbing Bakura's face and kissing him forcefully, pushing him backwards. "I'm not finished yet – we'll continue this discussion later, and you _are_ going to tell me what your problem is."

"Unless I distract you again," Bakura laughed against Marik's lips, falling eagerly back into his bedroom door and tugging Marik with him.

**So, I'm sorry about the lateness and shortness. I would like to be able to promise a return to long, punctual chapters next week, but it will entirely depend on what my health is doing. Rest assured I will try my best, though, so hopefully see you on Tuesday! - Jem**


	15. Chapter 15

**So, another update, and a return to long chapters (I hope)! **

**To guest reviewer Themysticwonder: Thank you so much! Haha, please don't slap the characters, though – then they couldn't keep entertaining us! I hope to carry on keeping you happy. Thank you for reading!**

**So, enjoy this chapter! - Jem**

The last work of term passed by relatively peacefully.

Marik never bothered to properly catch up on the work from the lectures he missed (being distracted by a certain white-haired someone didn't exactly help), so for him the last week was spent in a series of confusing lectures and seminars, full of words and questions he didn't understand. Marik's sketchpad quickly filled up with doodles during those sessions.

Bakura, of course, remained a star student despite his insufferable attitude. He practised any and al hours of the day and night, more often than not at the exact times Marik was trying to get some of his college work done. These sessions usually resulted in Marik throwing whatever pen or brush he happened to be using at the time straight at Bakura's head, who would easily dodge and laugh his sultry, dark chuckle.

At one such time, Marik eventually flipped.

Standing with a long growl, he whirled away from Bakura's desk (Marik's room had been largely unused since the two began sleeping in the same bed) and chucked a whole pile of papers at Bakura's head, half-coloured images swirling around white hair and floating down to land on the floor and stool, a couple landing on the piano keys themselves. Bakura, as ever, laughed, sending Marik a sly smirk. "If you're just going to destroy my room, you can go back to sleeping in your own bed."

"Like you'd ever let me," Marik seethed, his hands curling into fists by his sides as he glared at the pale student before him. "Just stop playing that damn instrument when I'm trying to work, alright?"

Bakura merely snorted, turning back to the keys as he picked up a couple of the loose papers, shaking his head. "Why do you always feel the need to throw stuff at me?"

"Huh?" Marik was sounding frazzled again, seating himself back on the desk and going back to his notes. He had copied most of them from Yami, but the words just did not join together in his head, and he would have an exam on this stuff at the start of the new term. It was safe to say that Marik was getting stressed.

Bakura noticed and backed off a bit, lifting his hands in the air. "Fine, throw your precious drawings at me if you want. Just don't expect to be getting them back."

Marik didn't respond, bent feverishly over the desk as he was, so Bakura released a very obvious sigh and gathered together all the scraps of paper, looking through them carelessly. He had to admit, they were good – Marik had a talent for capturing images on paper, it would seem. Bakura's smirk dropped into a thoughtful smile the more he looked, his brow creasing a little. "You know, these are actually remarkably good."

"What?" Marik eventually gave up on trying to make sense of the mixed-up notes and pushed away from the desk, spinning around in the chair to look at Bakura. "What are you going on about now?"

Bakura couldn't stop the smirk that tugged on the corners of his mouth, his eyes gleaming at the obvious irritation in Marik's voice. He waved the pictures tauntingly. "These. Where have you been hiding that talent?"

"Idiot." Marik rolled his eyes, attempting to snatch the papers back only for Bakura to hold them out of his reach. Marik fell back onto the desk chair with a disgruntled sigh, covering his face with one hand and shivering. "I haven't been hiding it; you clearly aren't very observant. And can you please turn the damn heater on? It's freezing!"

"It's England in December, what do you expect." Bakura shook his head, grinning. He closed the lid of the piano before sitting back and bringing his legs up onto the stool, resting the papers across his knees as he continued to peruse Marik's drawings. Marik noticed his occupation and sighed loudly, twisting back to the desk. Yami's neat handwriting flashed up in straight lines, but to Marik the words may as well have been written in Icelandic. He had absolutely no idea what any of it meant.

With a low groan, Marik dropped his head onto the desk and tangled his hands in his hair. "Gods, I am never going to be able to do this!"

Bakura, predictably, laughed at him. "Stop freaking out so much, Ishtar."

"Stop calling me my damn surname!" Marik whirled around, fixing Bakura with a dark, dark glare, his brows dangerously low and furrowed. Bakura just grinned, dropping the papers carelessly on the floor and crossing over to Marik easily, cupping his face with both hands.

"I think someone needs to calm down," Bakura smirked.

Marik glared back, irritably pulling out of his grasp and spinning the chair back around towards the desk. "Perhaps if _someone_ didn't feel the need to irritate me so much, I wouldn't need to."

A dark, silver laugh escaped Bakura's lips as he perched on the desk, right by where Marik was writing. Marik, exasperated, looked up at him and deliberately rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and glaring into Bakura's laughing brown gaze. "What the hell do you want now?"

"Oh, nothing." Bakura's tone was worryingly innocent. "I'm just sitting in my room. You can't scream at me for that, can you?"

Marik growled, turning back to the notes with another violent shiver. He wrapped his arms around his torso, clutching his black jumper closer to his tan skin, the freezing December air pervading the room with the small heater hardly adequate enough to alleviate it. Goosebumps rose along Marik's arms as he attempted to read through the notes, his head growing increasingly more fuzzy with each sentence. Bakura wasn't helping. He leaned back on the desk, his feet landing in Marik's lap to steady himself, white hair streaming down his shoulders as he tilted his head and smirked down at Marik. Marik steadfastly ignored him, refusing to give up on the notes, until Bakura's fingers wound their way into Marik's golden locks and started to play with them, twisting nonsensically.

Marik snapped.

"Oh, fucking hell, _fine_," Marik hissed, pushing the notes across the desk and turning to Bakura with narrowed violet eyes. "I'll pay attention to you. Ignorant child."

Bakura merely smirked, sliding off the desk and into Marik's lap, quietening him with a kiss. "You're the brat here, Marik, not me. About time you got a taste of your own medicine."

Marik sighed, disgruntled. Wrapping his arms around Bakura's neck, he pulled him back down into another kiss and complained against his lips. "I still need to get this work done, you know. If I fail uni I will never get a job."

Bakura grinned, using his grip in Marik's hair to tug the Egyptian up to him, planting kisses down his jawline. "Who says you need to? Just follow me around."

Marik couldn't hold back a scoff, his eyes sliding shut when Bakura nipped at his neck. He tilted his head and pulled the pale student closer. "Mm, I could do that. You're going to be some famous musician, so we should be fine."

"And you a famous artist," Bakura chuckled, his hands sliding down the back of Marik's top. "Don't think I'm just going to let you live off me for free."

Marik just grinned at him. "As if you'd let me starve."

Bakura scoffed, leaning down to claim his lips in another searing kiss. Marik hummed into his mouth, pulling him closer still, their arms naturally settling into place around each other. Bakura shifted, straddling Marik's waist on the chair as he slid his fingers through blond strands, tilting Marik's head up further towards him. Marik was just beginning to get rid of the cold surrounding him when a knock at the door sounded.

Bakura groaned, kissing Marik deeply again. "Why do things always interrupt us?"

"Stop being so grumpy and go get the door." Marik turned his head away when Bakura attempted another kiss, pushing him off his lap with a small grin. "It's bound to be for you."

Bakura gave Marik the finger as he left the bedroom and entered the corridor to answer the door.

Marik turned back to the desk with a small smile lighting up his features, Yami's notes all but forgotten. Bakura was a pain and a distraction, but he didn't half know how to make Marik feel good. This past week had been probably the happiest of Marik's life, and that was no exaggeration.

Bakura's dark curse sounded from the hall and Marik rolled his eyes, clambering up from the chair and throwing open the bedroom door. He was hardly surprised to see Yami and Bakura at loggerheads once again, both of them glaring at each other, neither willing to back down.

Marik stepped into the hallway, letting the bedroom door shut behind him as he heaved a small sigh. This sort of scene was becoming common to him now, and that was worrying. Marik stepped up to Bakura's side, laying a careful hand on his shoulder as he turned to face Yami.

Yami looked between them, releasing a sigh. "Ok, Bakura, I know you've got your minion, but you have got to accept responsibility here. I'm leaving tonight – after that, Ryou is all yours."

Bakura snarled. "Do I have to remind you that it's your fault he's with you in the first place?"

"Don't talk about that," Yami said quietly, his face resigned and dejected.

Bakura sneered, pulling out of Marik's grip as he advanced, his face creased into a perfect expression of mock-caring. "Oh, poor dearest Yami. Is the truth too much for you to handle? Because we both know how much you love lying."

Yami flinched, backing up and refusing to meet Bakura's gaze. Marik stared between them with interest, his chest burning with the utmost curiousity as his eyes flicked back and forth. Bakura's face was white with fury, and Yami seemed surprisingly ... submissive.

As if to reiterate Marik's thoughts, Yami looked down, his back to a wall, and murmured, "I know you have no reason to want to see me. But I'm just passing on the truth – if Ryou needs you, you have got to be there for him. Even if you don't want to be."

Bakura saw red.

Marik actually took a step back at the force of Bakura's momentum as he flew into Yami, slamming him further into the wall and grabbing the spikes of his hair, forcing his head back. Yami winced, his face reddening as he stared into Bakura's narrowed slits of furious eyes.

"Don't you dare," Bakura seethed, his voice dangerously low and dark with fury. He wrenched Yami's head further back, bending the much smaller student almost in half as he leaned down and hissed into his ear. "Don't you fucking dare talk to me like that."

Yami hissed when his head was slammed into the wall, his eyes glazing over slightly. Marik stepped forwards quickly, grabbing Bakura's arm and pulling him back, ignoring the animalistic growl that slipped through his lips.

"Come _on_, Bakura," Marik panted as he forcibly dragged him back. "Killing – Yami – is not – going – to help you!"

Bakura snarled, allowing himself to be dragged back, reluctantly releasing Yami. He turned with a growl in Marik's grip, meeting his violet eyes with burning brown eyes. "Get him out of here."

Marik kept a tight hold on Bakura's arm as he turned darkened violet eyes on Yami, deliberately putting his body between the two bickering students. "Yami, I think you should leave."

Yami leaned away from the wall, hands gingerly going to his neck, where long red fingerprints were left imprinted clearly against his pale skin. One more look at Bakura's livid expression had him turning to the door.

As soon as the door shut with finality behind Yami, Bakura ripped out of Marik's grasp with a roar, slamming his fist into the wall. A nasty _crack_ rang through the air. Marik watched with wide eyes, but he moved when Bakura made to slam into the wall again, instead grabbing his black-coated wrist and spinning him around. Bakura resisted, growling, but Marik firmly held him in place. Two brown fingers held a pale chin, directing their gazes onto each other. Violet brushed burning brown.

Bakura's shoulders sagged a little and he stopped resisting Marik, but his gaze remained intense and fiery as he turned it on Marik. Marik lifted one hand to push back white strands of hair, his other hand still tightly holding Bakura's wrist. Blood dripped steadily between pale fingers.

Marik heaved a sigh. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm not your fucking child," Bakura snarled, but Marik ignored him and led him through to the kitchen, firmly sitting him on a chair before recovering the medical kit. Bakura begrudgingly allowed him to bandage his hand, wincing pointedly when Marik pulled the bandage too tight.

Marik rolled his eyes. "If you sit still and calm down, this will be much easier."

"Fucking brat." Bakura's eyes closed, though, and he allowed his head to drop forwards. Marik watched him carefully as he finished tying off the last of the bandages, shoving the medical kit to one side. Bakura's face was drawn and tired, creases appearing in his forehead and around his eyes. Marik caught his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure with how to deal with this. He was still burning to know more about what got Bakura so riled.

With a small sigh, Marik stood up and crossed to Bakura's seat, planting himself on the pale student's lap. Bakura's eyes flew open, surprised at the sudden warm weight sitting on him, but he wrapped his arms readily enough around Marik and pulled him into his chest. Marik curled up happily enough, resting his head on Bakura's shoulder. Quietly, Marik murmured, "Tell me what that was about."

"Like hell," Bakura scoffed, but it was without venom. Arms tightened around Marik's form.

Marik sighed lowly, his lips close to Bakura's neck as he continued. "I think it's about time you started trusting me."

"You're an arrogant ass."

"Coming from you," Marik grinned, flicking Bakura's forehead lightly, "That's rich."

Bakura snorted softly, dragging Marik's head down further into his chest and resting his chin on top of the blond mass of tangles. "Yami and I have a lot of history."

"I sort of gathered that." Marik struggled to stop his lips from twitching into a grin. "Care to elaborate?"

Bakura sighed loudly, fingers of one hand gently caressing Marik's side, finding their way under the black jumper and sending warm sparks of light across the brown skin. "This situation is just really rather ironic. To think that Yami is lecturing me on family responsibilities ... _Yami_, of all people..."

"What is it you've got against him?" Marik twisted slightly in Bakura's lap, lifting his gaze to his pale face. Bakura's eyes were faraway, his fingers continuing their movements along Marik's sides.

Bakura started to speak. "Yami ... is the reason that Ryou and I don't get along. Hell, he's the reason my family are dead, never mind anything else."

"...What?!" Marik's jaw dropped, his eyes going wide as they fixed on Bakura's expression.

Bakura caught his look with a wry smile, his lips twitching upwards slightly. "Yeah, that's the reaction everyone gives me when I tell them. Utter disbelief."

"No, I don't not believe you, it's just..." Marik shook his head, his mind still stumbling to process the information. "He ... what? What the hell happened?"

Bakura's expression folded in on itself. "There was a fire..." His eyes instantly tightened, fingers digging into Marik's flesh as he held him close against his chest.

Marik blinked, his fingers pulling gently through white hair as he rested his head on Bakura's shoulder, warm breath tickling a pale neck. "Were you there when it happened?"

"...Yes." Bakura's voice was quiet, a barely-there whisper.

Marik lifted his head slowly and started when he saw Bakura's expression; brown eyes were closed beneath almost-transparent lids, a pale mouth formed into a straight line. One soft tear tracked a slow path down one cheek.

Marik sighed, wrapping his arms around Bakura's neck and drawing his head into his chest, kissing the top of Bakura's white locks. "That must have been horrible."

"No shit, Sherlock." Even at a moment like this, Bakura couldn't stop the sarcasm from seeping into his tone. Marik released a low chuckle, shifting a little on Bakura's thighs as he rested their foreheads together, meeting Bakura's gaze. Bakura half-smirked. "Enough questioning for today? Because I'm hungry."

Marik grinned, leaping off Bakura's lap and heading to the oven. "I guess that could work."

Bakura watched him cook with an unreadable expression decorating his features, the tiniest of creases in his forehead. His wrist ached, but the bandages were soothing, much as Marik's touch had been to his pounding head. Bakura's lips twitched upwards into a small smile.

...

Another week passed in relative peace. The university was closed for the winter, most of the students gone home, so very often it felt like Marik and Bakura had the whole place to themselves. The city centre got busy during the day, as ever, but in the evenings it was quiet enough to give Bakura and Marik some privacy.

"Why do they even have a holiday at this time of year, anyway?" Marik grumbled, his hand firmly in Bakura's as they walked shivering along the pavement. The air was freezing, bitingly cold against the exposed parts of Marik's skin, even bundled up in coat, hat, scarf and gloves as he was. He hung on to Bakura's side as they wandered along the almost empty streets, breath steaming in the air. "It's freezing. Holidays are supposed to be warm!"

Bakura snorted, not bothering to keep the derisive tone out of his words. "I guess they didn't educate you on Christmas in that tomb you grew up in, Ishtar."

Marik sent Bakura a glare. "I do know what Christmas is, idiot. I'm complaining about it being at this time of year. It's bad enough having a birthday in the winter, never mind anything else."

"You have a birthday soon?" Bakura's brow arched.

Marik couldn't hold back a grin, despite his chattering teeth. "Yes, I do. And I fully expect a gift from you, oh great boyfriend."

Bakura shoved him away playfully. "As if. And you might need to tell me when it is."

"The 23rd." Marik shivered, coming back over to grab Bakura's wrist, leaning against him and closing his eyes. "Not that I really want to remember. It isn't exactly a happy day."

Bakura's eyebrow arched again, silently asking for elaboration, and Marik rolled his eyes. "I had the initiation on my 10th birthday."

"...Ah." Bakura didn't say any more, but he wordlessly slipped an arm around Marik's shoulders and drew him closer, keeping them held tightly together as they continued down the street. Marik leaned gratefully into his warmth, wrapping an arm about Bakura's waist.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Marik saw fit to speak. "So, where is it exactly you're taking me today?"

Bakura sent him a wicked grin, brown eyes twinkling in the streetlights that lit the air on that dark evening. Marik still felt shivers roll down his spine merely at that sight.

"You'll like this one, Ishtar," Bakura responded sagely, tugging Marik along at a slightly faster pace. "I'm continuing to expand your horizons on everything you missed in that tomb of yours."

"It wasn't _my_ tomb," Marik responded irritably, although he followed along happily enough. Since university ended and they both had more free time, Bakura had taken it upon himself to attempt to show Marik a little more of the world above ground, seeing as Marik really hadn't had much time to get to explore before enrolling in the university. It had taken them along a myriad of adventures, mostly embarrassing for Marik and involving Bakura laughing at his expense, but Marik had to admit that he enjoyed their excursions. Anticipation shot through his gut as he wondered exactly where he was being taken today.

Violet eyes widened when Bakura directed their footsteps towards a large building on the corner of one street. Marik read the sign, tilting his head with confusion creasing his brow. "Cinema? What's that?"

"You have got to be kidding me." Bakura stifled a chuckle and dodged Marik's whack, trapping both his wrists easily and tugging Marik further into his side.

Marik sent Bakura a firm glare, fixing him with narrowed violet eyes and a stern expression. "Yes, Bakura, we all know that you like to tease me about my lack of knowledge. Can we skip that part, and go straight to you telling me where the fuck we are?"

Bakura snorted. As they joined the queue to enter one of the screens, Bakura tightened his grip on Marik's arm and tugged him towards him, forcing Marik to walk right beside him. Marik only resisted for a second before happily sliding nearer to Bakura, anchoring himself firmly beside him. "Are you going to tell me what we're doing yet?"

"You'll see soon enough," was Bakura's only reply, accompanied with a mischievous wink.

Marik sighed loudly, resigning himself to simply following Bakura until the pale teen saw fit to tell him whatever was going on. The queue dwindled slowly enough, hardly anyone around at this time of night, and so they reached the front relatively quickly. Bakura released Marik for just long enough to take out a pair of tickets, handing them to the attendant, who showed them into a theatre. Marik's brows knitted together when they entered the practically empty screen room, Bakura leading them swiftly to two seats in the middle of the theatre. "This looks suspiciously like a stage show, but we did that last week."

"It's a different type of theatre." Bakura was struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice as he pulled Marik down beside him. "And you'll like it; trust me."

"As if I would ever trust you," Marik scoffed, looking around suspiciously in the darkened lighting. Bakura merely flashed him a wide grin, leaning back in his seat and stretching. Marik took a moment just to admire Bakura's slim form, smiling a little dreamily as his thoughts spiralled down towards the gutter.

Bakura glanced over and caught his expression, smirk soon creeping back over his lips. He leaned forwards, deliberately lowering his voice into a seductive husk as he breathed into Marik's ear, looping on long arm about his shoulders. "What's got you looking so excited, hm?"

Marik started, instantly coming back to himself to meet a laughing brown gaze. His brows furrowed. "Get the hell off me, idiot."

"I thought we were curbing your erratic tendencies," Bakura murmured, lips grazing Marik's skin as he pulled the other closer to him. Marik fought for a couple of minutes before giving in and collapsing against Bakura's chest, his head landing inside the open buttons of Bakura's black coat. A dark laugh rumbled against Marik's ear. "You should be able to leave me alone for five minutes, Ishtar, really."

"You were the one who forced me here," Marik grumbled discontentedly, violet eyes still attempting to pick out exactly where they were through the darkness.

As he looked, the lights dimmed further and a slow hissing started at the back of the room. Bakura leaned down, his lips grazing Marik's ear teasingly again as he whispered, "Settle down, Ishtar. The show is about to start."

Marik opened his mouth to ask Bakura just what he meant, but he almost leapt out of his skin when a bright light suddenly appeared before them, accompanied by a loud crash of music that filled the entire theatre.

Marik jumped violently, a small cry escaping his wide mouth as his head shot up off Bakura, his eyes wide. There were images on the screen before him, huge images like you'd see on a TV, only about ten times bigger. Memories shot through Marik, of the first time he'd seen a TV, on one of those forbidden trips outside with Kek. Ishizu had been with him that day, though...

_"Marik, we have to go!"_

_"But sister, look at it! It's beautiful! The colours ... it's as if it's really here!"_

_"Yes, Marik, I know, but we've really got to go!"_

_Marik pulled irritably out of his sister's grip, young wide eyes gazing in awe at the huge box before him. A man was moving on it, moving and TALKING, and Marik could hear every word as if the man was right next to him! There was a woman as well, but Marik wasn't as interested in her. The man was tall and alluring, speaking with an accent Marik hadn't heard before. As he watched in wide-eyed wonder, the man left the woman and secured a helmet on his head, climbing onto a machine the likes of which Marik had never seen. It was sleek and red, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. Marik jumped back with a startled shout when the man kicked it and it roared, zooming away into the horizon without a care in the world._

_A slender grip wrapped around one his wrists._

_"Marik, we've got to go, now!"_

_Marik turned with beseeching eyes. "Please, sister, just a little longer! There's so much more to see..."_

_"I know, Marik, but father..."_

_Father..._

_Father always ruined everything._

"Marik?"

Marik drew himself back to the present with a small gasp, his gaze fixing once more on the dark theatre, the bright screen, and Bakura's brown eyes that bored into him with a quizzical expression.

Marik half-smiled, sinking back into his seat. "Sorry. Another flashback."

"I'm going to have to start writing down what triggers those," Bakura murmured, reaching back over and tugging Marik towards him, fingers lightly brushing over his scars. "You're missing the best bit."

Marik curled gratefully up against Bakura, the fingers on his back reminding him that he wasn't in Egypt anymore; that he'd escaped the horror of his childhood, and could watch TV whenever he liked. A small smile graced his lips at that, and he turned back to the screen. "So, what's going on here, Bakura?"

"It's a cinema." Bakura chuckled darkly, his lips once again brushing Marik's skin as he continued. "They project films onto that big screen, and we, the captive audience, get to watch them. Most people consider this 'fun'."

Marik scoffed lightly. "Not you, though."

"Of course not. My idea of fun is stealing from a mansion, and I've already taken you out to do that once." Bakura chortled, fixing Marik with a bright brown stare. "And we remember how well that turned out, don't we?"

Marik rolled his eyes. "You are never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope." Bakura threaded his fingers through Marik's golden hair as the adverts drew to a close, and the opening credits of the film started up. Marik watched in wide-eyed wonder, his gaze similar to the one he'd worn as a boy, when he first witnessed the moving pictures on a TV. This time, though, there was no sister telling him he had to go back to a miserable existence underground, and Bakura's warmth was pressed pleasantly against his side. Marik shuffled a little closer, leaning his head on Bakura's shoulder.

Predictably, Bakura had chosen a horror movie. Marik had not seen many films before, only a couple of rented DVDs, and none of them had been this full-on with the gore. Several times during the film, Marik shuddered and withdrew, burying his face in Bakura's chest and enduring the pale student's teasing.

When the film finally ended and they left the theatre, Bakura couldn't stop himself from poking more fun as Marik wandered the streets at his side. "So, Ishtar, did you actually see any of that film, or did you just spend the whole time cuddling me?"

"Asshole." Marik half-heartedly flicked Bakura on the shoulder, still a little shaken-up from all the gore. He wouldn't ever let that show, though. "Your fault for picking the damn thing."

Bakura chuckled darkly, leading Marik quickly through the streets on the way back to their flat. Marik stretched when they entered the familiar space, a yawn stretching his lips wide, his muscles stiff from the hours spent in the theatre chair.

A dark chuckle ghosted along the back of his neck, and hands gently caressed his sides, playing teasingly with the hem of his shirt. "Tired, Ishtar? Want to go to bed?"

Marik grinned and span around, catching Bakura's shoulders and drawing him into a firm kiss. "Not too tired."

Bakura chuckled, fingers tugging at Marik's shirt as he pushed him back towards the bed.

...

_Darkness, and running._

_Torches burning periodically in the walls, flashing by at an alarming rate._

_Heavy breathing, falling through parted brown lips, mangled in a mess of blood and dripping and liquid and running._

_Memories threatening to fall._

_Eyes squeezed shut. Knife in hand. Fear on one side, loathing on the other. No way out, no way back. The only way was through, but even that was impossible now._

_Shadows leaping, fear of the chase, fear of the knowledge. What would happen when he finally got outside? What would be waiting for him, out there in the land of the living, away from the only place he had ever called 'home'? Inadequate as it was, it was all he'd ever known._

_Just keep moving. Think later. Run now._

_Torches growing ever more infrequent. Shadows decreasing, then increasing, then decreasing again. A slope as the tunnels began to rise. Then a trip, a stumble over the first set of stairs..._

_Hurried climbing. Loud breathing. A need to get out, get away, growing incessantly more urgent with every step._

_A band constricting his chest. A tight grip failing on the blade in his hand. The ever-present _drip-drip_ of the falling blood..._

_Sunlight..._

_Sand rustling..._

_The outside._

_He had made it._

_The doors to the tomb swung open slowly, the sound of stone scraping stone impossibly loud in the expanse of silent, empty desert. Violet eyes blinked in the sudden sunlight, but the relief he thought he would feel was absent. Wasn't he meant to be happy about this? Excited by the expanse of world that opened up to him? Why was he feeling nothing?_

_With a few slow steps forwards, he encountered a small pile of water in the sand. His throat was parched. Leaning over it, blond hair falling in matted tangles around his face, a brown hand lifted a mouthful to dry, chapped lips._

_The water fell with a scream when it was mixed with blood._

_Wide violet eyes fell back from the horror-filled reflection, blade slipping from a loosened grip as lips stretched wide in a never-ending scream, the tearing sound rolling away in the endless expanse of the desert, heard by no one, no one to take heed, as one lonely little boy spilled his heart out to the silent, uncaring grains of sand..._

"Marik!"

A loud gasp ended the scream when pale hands attached to his own, dragging him out of the vestiges of sleep and back into the safety net of the present. Marik's shivering, quaking form was pulled backwards into a strong, white chest, his scars protected by the skin behind him, his hands held tightly in a comforting grip. Marik focused on breathing, on ridding himself of the blood-soaked horror of the half-imagined dream, the memory of the real thing sending cold sharp spikes of sweat rolling down his spine.

Continuing to shiver, Marik forced his violet eyes open as he looked around the room, slowly taking in his surroundings. It was still pitch black in the room, so it had to be the early hours of the morning; no sign of the dawn chorus of traffic yet. The desk was as messy as ever, the carpet littered with their outfits of the day, the covers pulled tightly around them, and a warm presence pressed lovingly close to Marik's back, cooling his burning scars. Breath teased the back of Marik's neck and he felt himself relax imperceptibly, the shivers slowing until they were almost non-existent.

A low sigh was released from behind him and Bakura's dark voice murmured, "Better?"

Marik's eyes slid shut before he opened them again, rolling onto his other side in order to face Bakura, lifting one brown hand to tangle in white hair. He forced a shaky smile onto his lips. "Much."

"Not enough, though." Bakura's expression was unreadable as he tugged Marik a little closer, arms winding securely about each other. Bakura pressed their foreheads together and watched Marik closely, eyes flicking over every inch of his shivering, sweating form. "What was the matter this time?"

"Same as ever. Tomb, father, blood." Marik closed his eyes again, curling up against Bakura's side, reminding himself that he was safe when ensnared in those pale, cool arms.

Bakura sighed. "Won't the nightmares ever stop? I sort of miss getting a good night's sleep."

"Like you ever did anyway," Marik smirked half-heartedly. "I heard you practising all hours of the night." There was still a hidden pain in his tone, however; an underlay that Bakura did not miss.

With a small sigh, Bakura wrapped his arms tighter and entangled his legs with Marik's own, the covers warm and protecting around them. Marik settled happily into this closer embrace, his head resting comfortable against Bakura's as he found himself held tightly. He sighed, daring to speak again. "Sometimes ... I just need to remember ... that I'm not there anymore."

Bakura remained quiet at this admission, but nothing more needed to be said. The quiet, steady beating of his heart and the slow rise and fall of his breathing were enough to send Marik back into a safe sleep.

Bakura watched him with a slight frown, resolving to remain awake until Marik woke up the next morning from a deep and dreamless sleep.

**That's it for now. It's a BIT longer than last week's... ^_^ Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much to all reviewers and readers of this story! See you on Thursday - Jem**


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm late, I'm so sorry, but it's here now. Stupid health. DX**

**I'm just going to go ahead and give you all a bit of a heads up here – there is a high chance that my updates will be late again next week, for which I profusely apologise. My health is doing strange things for no apparent reason, so I cannot predict when/if I'll be able to write, which is just a load of fun. XD Thank you so much to everyone who is sticking with me and reading and reviewing this, I have to say that you guys are fantastic and never fail to keep me motivated. So, I will write when I can and I'll still aim to update every Tuesday and Thursday, but if I am late, don't be too surprised. I'm sorry. ^_^**

**To guest reviewer Ibbnu: Aw, thank you so much! I'm flattered. I'll try not to keep you waiting too long!**

**Anyway. I hope you enjoy this update! - Jem**

The rest of the winter holidays passed in relative peace and quiet, save for one day.

Neither Marik nor Bakura were very interested in celebrating Christmas; for Marik, the holiday held no significance, and Bakura had never had anyone to celebrate it with – at least, not for most of his life. Therefore, the time free from university was spent mostly in just enjoying each other's company. Except for one day.

Marik could feel it approaching as the days rolled by, each second ticking with awful finality towards the anniversary of the act he least wanted to remember. His scars burned at just the thought. Bakura would notice the change in him, often watching with narrowed brown eyes and an impassive pale face, features furrowed in unfamiliar concern whenever Marik would snap or fall uncharacteristically silent. It wasn't until the morning of that day, however, that Bakura fully understood.

_Marik was dreaming again, and he was locked in the tomb. His room was fastened firmly shut, the darkness pressing heavily on his eyelids, the torch long since burned out. Silence settled like a thick blanket, weighing down Marik's every movement as he curled in a corner, rocking with the waiting, scared out of his wits. He had not seen his family in three days – all part of the purification – but now he was cold, hungry, alone, and afraid._

_He longed to be touched. By anyone – brother, sister, even father at this point. He just wanted something substantial, something to remind him that he wasn't merely a forgotten shadow in the never-ending darkness, lost and alone, a floating spectre. Marik craved touch above all else._

_But no one came. The darkness stretched on, the silence roaring and blinding and terrifying, the endless fear of what was coming, the craving not to be alone. But when the people did come it only brought fire and burning and bonds and pain, flesh tearing, blood flowing freely as the shadows leapt on the wall._

_Marik was tired of this nightmare. It was always the same. He woke quietly this time, dragged out of the remembered darkness like an anchor out of deep water; the surface came closer at a slow, sluggish rate. Marik woke to just the touch he had once craved so badly; a white arm flung securely over his chest, white hair strewn haphazardly across the pillow, stern features loosened and relaxed in sleep. Marik rolled slightly, just watching him for a moment, allowing his hazy mind to remember that he was here, in England. The date might be the same, but nothing else was._

_With a low sigh, Marik twisted his body onto Bakura's, falling gently across his chest in a tangle of blond and brown. He clutched tightly onto the rise and fall of Bakura's breathing, slow and steady with sleep, the faint sounds of his heartbeat, the way his hair rustled against the pillow with each movement. Marik curled up, safe in the warmth, and drifted once more into a comfortable sleep._

Sunlight just barely managed to filter through Bakura's dark curtains, appearing in narrow cracks and spots, dust dancing through the visible air in the none-too-clean room. Bakura awoke to a warm weight nestled firmly on his chest, a blond mess of tangles splaying across his pale skin and tanned arms curled insistently around his torso. Bakura sighed loudly. Wriggling slightly and freeing one pale arm, Bakura deliberately poked Marik's side, giving him a light shove. "Oi, wake up. I need to use the bathroom."

Predictably, there was no response from the mess on Bakura's chest.

Bakura rolled his eyes, poking again and attempting to sit up. "Come on, Ishtar. Shift."

A small muffled mewl sounded through Marik's lips and he pressed himself closer, digging his face into the crook of Bakura's neck as his arms tightened around Bakura's chest.

Bakura frowned. "Are you awake?" When he still got no response, Bakura used his free hand to brush back some of the blond tangled strands, revealing slightly flushed tanned skin. Violet eyes were firmly closed as Marik shifted closer, steadfastly refusing to allow Bakura to move.

Bakura growled. "I mean it, Ishtar. Move." Placing both his hands on Marik's shoulders, Bakura attempted to lift them both up, despite Marik's increased sounds of displeasure. When he finally manoeuvred them successfully into a sitting position, Bakura firmly tipped Marik's head back and forced him to meet his gaze, giving him a quick shake. "I know you're normally sleepy, but this is ridiculous. Let go of me."

Violet eyes opened reluctantly and Marik blinked, speaking without his usual venom. "You're the one who needs to let go of me, Bakura."

"Well, I would, if I didn't think you were going to collapse on me the moment I did." Bakura's lips twitched upwards slightly. "Happy birthday."

Marik's eyes slid closed and he groaned, falling forwards and crashing his face back into Bakura's chest. Bakura's mouth curled into a smirk, but his arms still found their way around Marik's back, drawing him nearer and resting his chin in Marik's blond hair. Marik clambered clumsily over Bakura's legs, moving as close to the pale student as he possibly could, eliciting a darkly amused chuckle from Bakura. Brown eyes glittered. "Much as I like it when you sit on me, I really _do_ need to use the bathroom."

Marik mumbled something incoherent and didn't move.

Bakura scoffed, bodily picking Marik up and dropping him unceremoniously on the sheets next to him. Marik yelped a bit, sending Bakura a glare; he merely smirked back and stretched, heading for the door and leaving without a backwards glance. Marik instantly missed his presence.

With a low sigh, Marik fell back against the pillows, the sheets tangling around his slender form. He was clad only in a pair of boxers, the scars on his back open to the freezing air as he rolled onto his front, eyes sliding closed again. Marik welcomed it on a day like today, though; the goosebumps spreading across his flesh were another reminder of how real the present was, as opposed to the nightmares of his past. Stretching luxuriously in the space of the bed, Marik pressed his forehead into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut. He was determined not to make this day a depressing one; he would not freak out, and he would not take it out on Bakura. He was hoping that the pale student had some form of contingency plan to keep him distracted. The last thing Marik needed was to spend this day locked in his past.

"Sleeping again, Ishtar?" A dark tut sounded through the room, followed by a chuckle. Bakura stood framed in the doorway, clothed in a blue jumper and jeans, looking more casual than Marik had ever seen him before.

Marik groaned in response, turning his head just enough to crack open one eye, meeting Bakura's gaze through the fading shadows. "You kept me up half the night. I'm allowed to be tired."

"I heard no complaints." Nevertheless, Bakura closed the distance between them easily enough, perching on the end of the bed by Marik's feet. On pale arm curved through the darkness to push back Marik's matted tangles of hair, resting almost tenderly against his brown skin, turned almost black in the darkness. Marik's eyes closed again and he relaxed imperceptibly.

Bakura continued to brush cold fingers against his skin until Marik was mostly calm. One violet eye seared through the darkness again. "You're freezing. Get off me."

"It's cold out here," Bakura shrugged with a grin. "What can I say."

"You could get back in here instead." Marik yawned widely and stretched, pointedly pulling the covers back up over himself.

A wicked smirk decorated Bakura's features and he edged closer, leaning right over Marik and placing his lips on his jaw. "Well," he all but purred. "I could..."

Marik looked at him through sleepy violet eyes, reaching up to wrap his arms around Bakura's neck, pulling him into a kiss. Bakura only responded for about half a second before pulling back and sliding back off the bed, standing with a stretch. He tossed a wink to Marik. "Or I could just get on with more important matters."

"Are you calling me unimportant?" Marik huffed a little.

Bakura chuckled, the sound low and comforting in the darkness of the room. "No, Ishtar, I'm telling you to get your lazy ass out of bed."

Marik grumbled but sat up begrudgingly, stretching with a yawn. Bakura smiled a little, reaching over to ruffle Marik's mess of golden tangles before he stepped fluidly across the room and pulled open the door, beckoning. "Come on. I'm hungry."

"One of these days, you're going to have to learn to cook for yourself," Marik grumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and yawning again. His back prickled a little, but it wasn't unbearable, and although shadows still flickered at the edge of his vision one look at Bakura was enough to keep Marik anchored in the present. The room he currently occupied was far removed from the tomb he grew up in, after all; it should be easy enough to keep the memories at bay.

Still, Marik stood up hesitantly, all too aware of how heightened his awareness of his scars usually was on this date. He was right to be wary; they burned afresh with every movement, causing a slight wince to cross his face. Bakura, of course, noticed.

Closing the distance in three short strides, Bakura's arms found their way around Marik's shoulders, bringing him firmly into his chest even as long white fingers searched his back, tracing the familiar patterns and bringing cooling comfort with them. Marik tilted his head up, eyes widening slightly at the gentleness in Bakura's movements. Bakura met his gaze with an unreadable expression, wordlessly tightening his grip, the soft material of his jumper soothing Marik's freezing skin as he encircled him securely in his arms. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I -" Marik cut himself off with a low groan, allowing eyes to slide closed and his head to drop forwards, his forehead finding purchase on Bakura's shoulder.

Bakura pulled him imperceptibly closer. "If you want to, you can."

Marik's hands clutched at the front of Bakura's jumper as fingers continued to lightly trace his scars, cooling and soothing with each motion. The words were there, in the shadows in the corners of his eyes, so Marik began to speak.

"I was ten," he started in a low monotone. "I was shut in my room for three days leading up to my birthday. I had one torch, one bowl of water, and three meals to last that time. After the three days, they opened my bedroom door and the light practically blinded me, so I didn't see the guards when they picked me up. I saw my father though, and the knife." Marik's brow creased, his mouth snapping shut.

Bakura rested his chin gently in Marik's hair. "How did they do it?"

"They tied me to a table." Marik's voice was still a monotone. "Hands and feet. My dad put the knife in a hot flame and ... well ... I'm sure you can imagine the rest." Marik tilted his head up again, meeting Bakura's gaze with a small frown. "You must know about heat and pain, if you were there in the fire that killed your parents.

Bakura hesitated but nodded slowly, continuing to caress Marik's scars. His tone was low, without its characteristic dark amusement when he spoke. Marik almost wanted to call it chilling. "It wasn't just my parents."

"What?" Marik looked at him with slightly widened violet eyes, but Bakura's expression was as impassive as ever. The only change was a slight tightening in the skin around his eyes.

Bakura pulled Marik back towards him, laying Marik's head on his shoulder and resting his chin in Marik's hair. He spoke softly. "I had a sister."

"Sister?" Marik instinctively wound his arms around Bakura's waist, holding him much as he was being held. A flicker of a memory slipped through the back of his skull. "Wait, yes – there was a photo of a girl on your desk. Is that her?"

Bakura growled a little. "When were you looking through my things?"

"It was the day I was leaving, before you got back," Marik remembered, brow creasing slightly. "I was just looking around in here. I thought it would be the last time I was near you, anyway, so even if you found me there wasn't much you could do to me."

"Except make you stay." Bakura chuckled lowly, fingers shifting down to dance along Marik's sides, eliciting a small wriggle from Marik. "But yes, that is Amane."

"Your sister." Marik closed his eyes, lifting his hands to gently wind around Bakura's neck. He leaned against him with a sigh. "But you and your brother survived? How?"

"I ... I got us out." Bakura closed his eyes, the smell of smoke and flames burning his nostrils as half-remembered screams filled his ears, wood creaking as it collapsed around them. Gold and orange flickered in his vision, mixing with Marik's hair.

Marik straightened in Bakura's grasp, meeting his eyes dead-on as he threaded fingers through white hair. Bakura seemed faraway, though, only slightly responding to Marik's touches, the hands at his sides dropping a bit. Marik pulled him closer. "How did you manage that?"

"I was eight." Bakura's voice was still unnaturally soft, laced with an edge unfamiliar to Marik. "But Ryou was only five, he couldn't get out on his own. Amane was ten, she should have been able to get herself out, and mum said she would help the others if I got Ryou..."

_"Go, Bakura, get your brother!"_

_"But what about you?" Brown eyes stared in horror at his mother. She leaned down to him, one soft hand brushing his cheek, searingly hot with the heat of the fire._

_"We'll be fine," she breathed, a hysterical tinge to her voice. "But you've got to find Ryou for me, ok? Then get down the stairs and out of the house."_

_Brown eyes blinked, a quick head jerk of a nod, and she was gone._

_Bakura turned, the smoke streaming through his eyes as he battled his way through flames and debris, tracing the once-familiar path down the landing to Ryou's room. The door had crumbled and cracked, hanging half off its hinges in the spitting flames and hazy, smoke-filled air. Bakura kept fighting, though, his brow furrowing as he battled his way past the wood, entering the blackened, twisted horror of his brother's room. "Ryou?"_

_"Bakura!" Hands fell around his waist, a head buried in his stomach as his small brother clung to him. Bakura turned swiftly, tugging one of Ryou's hands free and pulling, dragging him out of the room._

_Ryou stumbled along, clutching tightly to Bakura's hand, his eyes streaming in the heat and smoke. "What's going on? Where's mummy?"_

_"She'll be here soon." Bakura stopped, coughing._

_Ryou gazed up at him with frightened brown eyes, his nostrils flaring in the heat. Bakura met his eyes and tugged, speaking around the soreness in his throat. "Don't just stand there, let's go!"_

_The two boys rushed to the head of the stairs, the creaking of the house filling their ears and acrid smoke coating their lungs. Ryou faltered when he looked down and saw the blackened crisp of the banister, the torn holes in the carpet that still singed orange at the edges. Most frightening of all, the flames themselves that still leaped up the walls, climbing their hungry way up to the ceiling._

_Ryou clung tighter onto Bakura's side._

_Bakura looked down at him, brown eyes creasing in worry, before he squared his shoulders and started forwards. "Come on. Let's get out of here."_

_They started down the stairs, the steps creaking worryingly loudly under their weight. The whole structure shifted and Ryou squealed, burying his head in Bakura's waist, grabbing onto his hips and sobbing with fright. Bakura determinedly carried on, physically dragging Ryou behind him, ignoring the ever increasing groans and growls of the house as it slowly caved in on itself, bricks and mortar crumbling. Bakura tripped the last few steps, sending them both sprawling across the too-hot floor, the air sizzling around them as the flames leaped higher._

_"NO!"_

_Eyes streaming, hands flailing, confused dust leaping in the air. Scrabbling upright, grabbing a hand, running, pulling, tugging. The door had to be here somewhere..._

_"BAKURA!"_

_"Ryou, I've got you, don't worry -"_

_Choking smoke, hacking coughs, gasps for breath in a searing chest._

_"No, where – AH!"_

_"Nearly – door – come on – !"_

_A burning handle._

_Pushing._

_Sunlight. Air. _

_Breathe. Gasp. Pain._

_A hand in his._

_A dirt-streaked pale face, wide staring eyes, horror-filled mouth._

_"Ryou!"_

_Bakura pulled him close, hugging him more tightly than he'd ever hugged anyone before, feeling desperate arms cling to his waist, wet tears run down his burning chest. The two boys held each other and cried, the fresh summer air such a contrast to the horror of their home, the terror as their world collapsed._

_An ominous creak._

_Bakura's head shot up and he turned, gaze going blank._

_Flames were still eating the house. It stood out against the clear blue sky, a bright orange blot sending tendrils of smoky blackness swirling into the air, blurring the lines of the horizon. As Bakura watched with fear wrapping icy cold hands around his heart, the roof started to crumble at the edges, sagging down as the building gave a long groan. Ryou followed his brother's gaze and shrieked, his eyes going wide before he buried his head back into his brother's chest, eyes squeezing shut. Bakura was frozen, watching as the house folded in on itself, the roof tumbling down to crash into the first floor, sending the crumbling structure tumbling down to the ground with a resounding crash. It echoed with an awful finality. The walls crumbled, the rafters creaking, the whole structure becoming a mess of twisted, burned crisps and waifs collapsed on the floor._

_Bakura released Ryou and stepped forwards, his eyes desperately searching, gaze flicking left and right around the broken shell of the house. "Mum?"_

_He took a small step forward, ignoring Ryou's shaking shoulders. "Dad?"_

_He drew in a painful breath. "Amane?"_

_Silence._

_Bakura stepped forwards again but there was a shout from behind him. Crowds from their town had appeared, people calling and babbling, desperate to help. Ryou was engulfed in unfamiliar arms but Bakura ignored them all, gaze still intent on the broken house. He took another step._

_Bakura couldn't see them._

_The house was a blackened and twisted carcass, staining the earth with black and brown, leaking onto the concrete. But it was empty. It wasn't supposed to be empty._

_Bakura fell to his knees, nails digging into the path beneath him, fingers still blackened and smeared with smoke and debris. His lungs burned as he drew in another breath, hot tears coiling down his face. "Where are you? Mum?"_

_She had promised they'd be alright. She'd be here somewhere._

_Deep in his heart of hearts, Bakura knew they were gone. He felt emptied, as if half of him had been ripped away and tossed amongst the flames with the rest of his family. They were gone._

_Gone._

_Bakura howled and lifted his head to the sky, tears streaming down his cheeks._

_When he turned back to the crowd, the first face he saw was Yami's._

_Bakura's hands balled into furious fists by his sides._

"At least you got Ryou out."

Bakura blinked, his gaze zeroing back in on Marik, meeting violet eyes laced with understanding.

Bakura tightened his grip, feeling the hot scars beneath the pads of his fingers. "I did."

Marik half-smiled, resting his forehead back against Bakura's shoulder and allowing his eyes to slide closed. "And you're here, with me."

"Yes." Bakura's voice was still uncharacteristically soft as he traced the patterns beneath his hands. Blond hair in his vision, the colour of flames. Tan skin pressed close to him, the colour of burned wood.

Bakura closed his eyes and rested his head on Marik's. "I'm here with you."

...

Marik lay between Bakura's legs on the bed, his back firmly protected and his head resting comfortably on Bakura's chest. Bakura had his arms around Marik, his chin resting in blond locks as he pressed the other student close to him. Marik's laptop was open on the other end of the bed, playing a film for them both to watch. Marik's eyes were mostly closed, however, and he sighed as he shifted a little closer to Bakura.

Bakura glanced down at him and snorted softly. "Are you even awake?"

"Y-yes." Marik yawned. "Well ... mostly."

Bakura shook his head, small smile quirking the corners of his lips. "You are the laziest person I have ever met."

Marik swatted feebly at him, curling up and fully closing his eyes. His night had been disturbed, after all, and he was enjoying the peace of this little moment.

There was a loud, clear knock at the door.

Both students groaned. Neither moved.

Bakura prodded Marik's side, digging his nail into Marik's black jumper. "Go get it."

"You go." Marik responded belligerently.

Bakura grinned. "If I move, you have to move too, as you insisted on sitting on me again. If you move, I get to stay here. Win-win."

"That is not win-win," Marik grumbled, but he begrudgingly shifted and clambered clumsily to his feet, stretching. Deliberately lifting his middle finger and shoving it in Bakura's face, Marik turned to the door and entered the hallway, yawning once more before unlocking the door and opening it.

"Cousin!"

Marik groaned, running one hand through his tousled hair. "Kek. Fantastic. Just who I wanted to see today."

"You know you did," Kek grinned. "Who else would you want to hang around with?"

"Kek, stop screwing around - we need to see Bakura," an ice-cold voice interrupted.

Marik blinked, peering past the vast form of his cousin to catch piercing blue eyes and a long white coat. Rolling his eyes, Marik stepped back, shouting over his shoulder, "It's for you, Bakura!"

The bedroom door opened and Bakura nonchalantly appeared, lifting a brow when he saw who it was. "What do you want?"

"We need to talk," Kaiba said. "Preferably without the idiot present."

Bakura grinned. "Marik, go wait in the bedroom."

"Like hell!" Marik sent Bakura a dangerous glare, his eyes narrowed and his brows lowered. "Fucking asshole."

Bakura smirked at him before stalking past them all, opening the kitchen door. As one of the chairs was still broken, Marik was forced to stand against the counter, watching the three of them sit around the table and plan.

"I've got a job for you both," Kaiba explained, his blue eyes gleaming slightly. "It won't actually be achieved for a while yet, but I need you both to start watching the place and the people involved as soon as possible."

Bakura smirked arrogantly, placing the tips of his fingers together and peering at Kaiba, brown eyes glinting. "And what, pray tell, is this job with which you so rudely ask for my assistance?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Bakura," Kaiba snapped, his face paling a little, nostrils flaring with fury. "You know full well what I'm asking you to do. I expect it done quickly and efficiently."

"I get the feeling I'm missing something here," Kek interrupted loudly.

Kaiba and Bakura stared at each other for another minute before Bakura sat back, lifting his hands in the air. "Alright, I had a hunch you'd ask for help on this one. Kek, Kaiba's had some trouble with a German company competing in the same field as him. I guess you'd be happier if they were out of the picture."

Kaiba nodded curtly. "It runs a little deeper than that. You need to destroy their business as well as remove them – look through their papers, steal their money, I don't care. Just get rid of them."

"And what do we get out of this venture?"

"Money, like usual, right?" Kek looked at Kaiba with a grin. "I'm getting rich fast."

Kaiba, however, looked to Bakura, who was casually polishing his nails.

Kaiba hissed. "Fine. I'll tell you the location of ... three of the Items."

"Five," Bakura responded smoothly.

Kaiba glared at him. "Four is the most you are getting out of me."

"Deal." Bakura jerked his head, lacing his fingers together. "But I will get all seven eventually."

"All seven of what?" Marik looked at Bakura suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing. Tell you later."

Kaiba interrupted before Marik could question further. "I'll leave the two of you to work out the details. Be rid of them as fast as you can, but do the job thoroughly. Do your research. And keep the idiot out of the way."

"I do know what I'm doing," Bakura responded sagely, waving Kaiba away and ignoring Marik's splutter. "Get out of here."

Kaiba stood with a final glare at Bakura, turning with a swirl of his cloak to leave the flat.

Marik lifted a brow at his rather sullen exit, taking the newly vacated seat with a frown. "What's got into him?"

Bakura burst into loud peals of dark laughter, grin stretching his lips wide. His pale skin was creased with amusement, long hair thrown back over his shoulders, brown eyes sharp and gleaming when he turned them on Marik. Quietening slightly, Bakura stood up and firmly sat himself on Marik's lap, pulling him into a deep kiss, to which Marik happily responded.

A cackle sounded from Kek. "Gods, you two. Keep it in your pants."

Marik broke from Bakura with a hiss, turning to glare at Kek. "Say nothing. I'm warning you."

"Or what?" Kek's grin widened. "Calm down. I don't care if you two like to fuck each other."

Marik glared but Bakura just laughed, turning Marik's face firmly back towards his and kissing him again.

Marik's brow rose higher, breaking the kiss, leaning back and sending a pointed glare Kek's way. Marik tugged Bakura closer. "What the hell has got you so happy?"

"I've been trying to get information out of Kaiba on those Items for _years_." Bakura's eyes gleamed. "He must be absolutely desperate to come to me, knowing what I would ask."

"And what exactly did you ask? What are these Items?" Marik still looked suspicious.

"Later." Bakura swung his legs over Marik's as he turned to Kek, who was watching them with a wide grin. "I won't need you for a while, Kek. I'll take care of breaking into the house."

"What?" Kek looked a little affronted. "I'd better still get my cut."

Bakura smirked. "You'll get your money. Keep out of my way until I call you – I'll just need you for actually taking them out."

"I see." Kek's eyes gleamed. "I'm certainly up for that. I will _destroy_ them"

Marik's nose wrinkled, his features screwing up as he looked between them. He had always known Bakura and Kek's activities weren't exactly legal, but hearing them discuss it so plainly reminded him a little too much of the act that had driven him to England in the first place. Although, with Bakura on his lap, it was a little easier to be pleased about that.

Kek left them soon after and Marik and Bakura curled back up on their bed, playing the last of the film they had been watching before they were so rudely interrupted. They sat side-by-side, backs resting against the wall, heads lying against each other. The laptop ran out of battery before the film ended, and neither could be bothered to get the charger, so in the end they just lay together, Bakura pulling Marik into a deep kiss. Marik smiled against his lips, pushing him down to lie flat on the bed, film forgotten as limbs tangled together and mouths moved against skin.

"I never gave you your present," Bakura murmured after a while, fingers tangling in Marik's hair.

Marik arched a brow, faux-surprised. "You actually got me a present? The world must be ending."

Bakura shoved him over onto the sheets, standing up and heading to the desk. Marik watched him curiously, arching a brow when he pulled open a drawer. "You hid it there? I could have found it anytime."

"You're never in here without me," Bakura snorted. "And you're the least observant person in the world."

"Still with the insults," Marik murmured, but his interest was piqued.

Bakura rummaged for another long moment before finally turning and heading back to the bed, his fist tightly closed. Marik watched with interest as he crawled back up the sheets, collapsing against Marik's chest and turning onto his side, meeting Marik's eyes.

Marik quirked an eyebrow, looking down at him. "Well?"

"Demanding, aren't you?" Bakura grinned before opening his palm and extending it towards Marik. "Happy birthday."

Marik accepted the thing with a small frown. It appeared to be a tiny purple box with a bit of string attached, one huge white circle in the middle. He held it between one finger and his thumb, his face creasing up in confusion. "What the hell is it?"

"Idiot." Bakura snorted, reaching up and taking the thing off Marik. He turned it around, untangling the bit of string into two parts and extending them to Marik. "Put these in your ears."

"The fuck?" Marik glared at him.

Bakura rolled his eyes and demonstrated. "They're headphones. Now put them in your ears."

Marik looked suspicious. "Is it going to explode if I do?"

"Just fucking put them in." Bakura shook his head, shoving them at Marik and taking the small purple box. Marik obeyed sullenly, placing the things in his ears and shivering at the coldness against his warm skin. Bakura grinned when he saw that they were fully in, deliberately placing his thumb over the white button. He pressed down.

Marik's jaw dropped when silvery music hit his ears, his eyes going wide. Tanned hands automatically flew to his ears, pressing against the headphones in shock, his expression turning into one of wonder. Bakura grinned at his reaction, tucking the player safely into Marik's pocket and curling up against his chest, closing his eyes. "I'm guessing you like it, then."

"It's – I –" Marik shook his head, arms tightening around Bakura. He placed two fingers under Bakura's chin and kissed him firmly, allowing his actions to explain his thanks better than his words ever could. Bakura smiled and pulled himself up, breaking the kiss after a long moment. He lifted one pale hand to one of Marik's ears, removing the headphone and placing it in his own.

Marik looked at him questioningly. Bakura grinned. "It's only fair I get to listen, too."

Marik rolled his eyes but allowed it, squeezing Bakura tightly. They lay in peaceful silence, eyes closing, both inherently comfortable in a way neither of them had ever been before.

Unfortunately, another knock at the door interrupted them.

Marik groaned softly, prodding Bakura. "Your turn this time."

"Fine." Bakura grunted, tugging out his headphone and chucking it at Marik as he stood up. Marik glared at him but Bakura just laughed, turning to the door. "Lazy ass."

"I am not," Marik grumbled, watching Bakura leave the room. He stretched out in the sheets, yawning widely before his hand dipped into his pocket and removed the small purple player. He examined it curiously – Bakura would have to show him how to work it, later.

Bakura entered the hall with a small smile at his lips; Marik's reaction had been even better than he had hoped. Marik was so naive about everyday things it was easy to wind him up and tease him, but Bakura also loved the way he would stare in wonder at every new pleasure that was revealed to him. Bakura rather enjoyed being on the receiving end of those smiles, rather than the harsh glares and angry stares Marik used to send his way.

Going to the flat door, Bakura noticed that Kek had left it unlocked, so he threw it wide open and looked out.

His jaw dropped.

Silence weighed through the hall, Bakura's skin paling to almost worrying transparency, his brown eyes narrowing, then widening, than narrowing so far that they became snake-like slits buried deep in his features. His mouth drew into a thin line, hands clenching into taught fists by his sides.

The newcomer looked out of an equally pale face, white hair falling in streaks down past slender, pale shoulders. A suitcase sat on the ground beside him, a backpack on his back. Brown eyes, the exact same shade as Bakura's, glimmered defiantly up at him. "Hello, Bakura."

Bakura's glower deepened at the sound of his name. His lips pursed, words tearing their way out of his throat like a plaster ripped off tender skin.

"Ryou. What the fuck are you doing here?"

**Ok, so I know I'm leaving it on a cliffhanger, but I promise I'll have the next chapter out as soon as I possibly can. Hopefully Tuesday, but like I said earlier, depends on my health. I shall do my best not to be late, though. XD Anyway, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! – Jem**


	17. Chapter 17

**So I am finally back with an update! I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting so long, stupid health, grrr, but here is the new chapter. It's quite short, which I am sorry about, but I just wanted to update with SOMETHING, even if it isn't much. I hope you don't mind. ^_^ I still don't think I'll be sticking to a regular update schedule but there will still be new chapters, just less frequently. I have every intention of finishing this story eventually, so stick with me!**

**Special thanks must go to FanGirl16, Miss Macabre Grey, and CursiveBlade13, who keep me sane when I can't write. The fact that this story is being updated is largely down to them. XD**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter, literally every single review made me laugh out loud. You lot are all incredible. I hope you enjoy this (short) update now that it's finally here! – Jem**

_Bakura's glower deepened at the sound of his name. His lips pursed, words tearing their way out of his throat like a plaster ripped off tender skin._

_"Ryou. What the fuck are you doing here?"_

"Well, if you actually picked up your phone once in a blue moon, you would know!" Ryou glared, his eyes narrowing.

Bakura growled low in his throat, blocking the door as he leaned threateningly over his younger brother, expression darkening into one of absolute hatred. Ryou glared right back, his features not as twisted as Bakura's but certainly not welcoming or loving. Both brothers were deadlocked, refusing to back down.

"I seem to remember," Bakura's voice was deceptively calm, "Telling you to not, under any circumstances, get involved with my life."

Ryou hissed. "Well, it isn't exactly like I have much choice."

"Find somewhere else," Bakura deadpanned and made to slam the door.

Ryou stuck his foot in the way, his eyes widening alarmingly. "Bakura! There is nowhere else for me to go! Are you really going to stick me back in care because you can't be bothered to look after me?"

"Nope. Too much paperwork. Go live on the streets for all I bloody care." Bakura made to slam the door again but Ryou shrieked, forcing himself bodily forwards.

The noise finally alerted Marik, who up until this point had remained curled up on the bed. With a low grumble, he clambered painfully off the bed and made his way to the door, back stiff and a little sore. It would need to be treated again soon. So far, however, this day had gone much better than any year previously, and Bakura was a large part of that.

Bakura, who was now dragging Marik out of bed.

Marik growled as he threw open the bedroom door, rubbing his eyes as he entered the hallway. "Bakura, keep it down, will you? I was trying to -"

Marik stopped speaking and his jaw dropped.

Stood in the doorway was another Bakura – someone with long white hair and angry brown eyes, lips drawn into a thin line, pale skin covered with livid lines. Fists clenched by his sides shoulders hunched forwards, almost perfectly matching Bakura's stance. Bakura hissed when Marik appeared, his jaw rolling as he clenched and unclenched his teeth, fingers flexing. "Get back in the bedroom. _Now_."

"What? No way!" Marik blinked several times and stepped further into the hallway, running his eyes over the new arrival in the doorway. Bakura snarled but Marik ignored him, instead striding forwards and pulling the door wide.

Brown eyes widened in shock when they alighted on Marik. "Who are you?"

"I could say the same to you!" Marik turn to glare daggers at Bakura, who glared just as harshly back. Marik snorted. "This is your brother, right?"

"No shit, fucking genius," Bakura snarled. "Whatever led you to that conclusion? Was it the near-identical looks that had you, or the fact that he's a complete twat?"

"Bakura!" Ryou drew in a deep, calming breath, dropping his head into his hands before looking back at Marik. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are, but yes, I'm Ryou Touzoku. I thought my brother lived alone."

"It's none of your fucking business," Bakura growled. "Get the fuck out of here."

Ryou shook his head. "You know I can't do that."

"I don't fucking care, just get the hell out." Bakura clenched his fists and took a threatening step forwards, sending Ryou skittering backwards, his eyes opening wide.

"Stop!" Marik stood between them and glared back and forth before deciding Bakura was the most urgent. He turned on his pale partner and backed him up, frowning heavily. "Get back in the bedroom."

"Like hell. That's where _you_ need to go whilst I take care of _that_." Bakura gestured angrily to Ryou, who hissed.

Marik rolled his eyes, breathing slowly as he continued to back Bakura up. A growl ripped out of Bakura's throat as he met Marik's eyes, firmly standing his ground, brows lowering dangerously and hands curling into fists. Marik refused to back down. When he spoke, he made sure to keep his tone smooth and even, placing calming hands on Bakura's shoulders and murmuring softly. "Just go in the bedroom. You can't think straight like this."

A snarl tore through Bakura's lips.

"Go on." Marik gave him a small push, smile flickering about the corners of his lips. "I'll be in soon. If you feel the need to destroy something, don't touch the piano – I quite like when you play that."

Despite himself, a smirk twitched Bakura's lips. "Don't worry; destroying things is _your_ speciality."

Marik scoffed a little, watching as Bakura turned and stormed into the bedroom. Less than a minute later an angry clash of notes sounded from the piano, followed by another, and another, as Bakura ground out a furious tune.

Marik sighed.

"Um ... thank you."

Marik turned with surprise, having almost forgotten the newcomer still standing outside the flat. Ryou looked a little sheepish, his hands clasping and unclasping nervously in front of him as he rocked from foot to foot. He swallowed before speaking again. "I never know what to do when Bakura gets like that."

Marik shrugged. "He's alright if you let him calm down."

They both winced when a particularly cross chord sounded through the flat, and Marik had to bite back a smile. "Well, mostly. I guess you'd better come in."

Ryou chewed his lip. Slowly, he complied, bending down to pick up his suitcase before staggering into the hall, shutting the door lightly behind him and switching the hand holding the case. He shivered.

Marik just stared at him for another long moment before turning with a sigh. "I guess we should go in the kitchen."

Ryou followed quietly. The suitcase was placed near the door, Ryou on a chair, and Marik flicked the kettle on before sitting opposite him and just staring. He ran his eyes down Ryou's form, taking in the obvious similarities to Bakura with a small shake of his head. The likeness was uncanny. Ryou's eyes were perhaps a little softer, his hair a little tamer, but otherwise they were almost identical.

Ryou half-smiled. "I know I look a lot like him."

"You do." Marik continued to stare.

Ryou shifted a little uncomfortably. "Um, so ... who are you, exactly?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, I forgot you didn't know about me." Marik grinned, resting his chin on one elbow as he watched Ryou. "My name's Marik. I'm your brother's flatmate."

"Flatmate? I didn't think Bakura was living with anyone. Oh, I'm so sorry to be barging in like this..." Ryou rubbed his hands apologetically, chewing his lip.

Marik waved him away. "It doesn't bother me. Bakura shouldn't be surprised either – Yami's been warning him for ages that you would need somewhere to stay. I'm guessing his grandfather's in hospital, and you're stuck for somewhere to live?"

Ryou nodded slowly.

"You'll have to stay here then." Marik grimaced a little; there was no denying that it would be inconvenient to have another person in the flat, getting in the way, but at the same time Marik knew that Bakura couldn't just abandon his responsibilities. Like it or not, Bakura was all that Ryou had, and Marik wasn't about to let him destroy his family.

Ryou sighed in relief, allowing his head to drop into his hands. "Really? You'll let me stay? I was so sure, when Yami said Bakura wouldn't accept me at all..."

"I won't let Bakura kick you out," Marik promised. He took in Ryou's trembling form and shook his head, pursing his lips. "I can't believe he's abandoned you like this, considering that you're all the family he has left. I can understand him hating Yami, but you?"

"He still hates Yami?" Ryou groaned, massaging his forehead. "I hoped he'd be over that by now..."

Marik instantly flared with curiousity, fire burning through his veins, his head fuzzing over slightly. He frowned over at Ryou. How much could he push, without seeming suspicious? Bakura would never tell him what was going on, but Ryou? Ryou just might be Marik's key to finding out more about Bakura.

"Well," Marik began carefully, "I know Bakura hates him, and he shows no sign of getting over it soon."

Ryou sighed loudly. "He needs to get over himself. Yami didn't start the fire and that's that; he needs to realise that no one is ever going to believe his lies!"

Marik's jaw dropped. "Bakura thinks Yami started the fire?!" That made so much sense, but at the same time, so little. It completely explained why Bakura would hate Yami as much as he did, and it even explained Yami's attitude sometimes, how he always seemed to defer to Bakura. But surely Yami wouldn't have ... he _couldn't_ have...

"Bakura didn't tell you?"

Marik shot back to the present, meeting Ryou's wide-eyed gaze. Ryou swallowed. "I thought Bakura would have told you! Ah, no, what if he was keeping it secret deliberately?"

"Trust me, I would have got it out of him eventually." Marik's voice was low and stern, his brows firmly furrowed. His mind was stumbling to catch up with Ryou's words, attempting to piece the story together. "Why would Yami have started the fire?"

"He didn't." Ryou's voice was flat. "Bakura's paranoid."

Marik blinked, turning to look at Ryou, his eyes widening slightly. Ryou was staring down at the tabletop, his hands curled determinedly into fists, his brows furrowed heavily and weighing low over his eyes. He looked sad.

Marik sighed. He had no idea how to cope with this - dealing with Bakura was bad enough, but now there was a perfect stranger in his flat and Marik was supposed to be making him feel welcome. Marik shifted, saying the only thing that came to mind. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be." Ryou sent Marik a half-smile. "You've given me a place to stay, so I have to thank you for that. Do you ... do you have a spare bedroom?"

"We've got two." Marik grinned and stood up. "There are only two of us in this four bedroom flat. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

Ryou smiled and stood, picking up his suitcase, his backpack still slung over his shoulders. When Marik opened the kitchen door they were still greeted by piano music, although it was slightly calmer now. Ryou looked worriedly at the door hiding Bakura but Marik led him straight passed it, opening one of the unused rooms and ushering Ryou into it. "I'll talk to Bakura. Don't worry about that. You just ... settle in, or whatever..."

Ryou nodded with a small smile, entering the room.

Marik shut the door after him and rested against the frame, closing his eyes in an attempt to clear his head. Ryou was so like Bakura that it was almost surreal; his voice and mannerisms were all so much calmer, they almost sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, when Marik was so used to harsh words and thinly veiled threats from Bakura. Ryou was just ... _wrong._

Another angry clash of notes sounded from the piano and Marik winced. Bakura was quite obviously livid; earlier he had been the most out of control Marik had ever seen him, almost frighten in his absolute anger. But what on earth was it about Ryou that made him so furious? Marik was going to have to get it out of him, no matter how angry he was.

Drawing in a deep breath, Marik strode determinedly back to Bakura's bedroom and flung the door wide open.

The piano music instantly swelled in volume, the door swinging shut behind him as Marik leaned against the wall. Bakura was hunched over the piano, his fingers flying over the keys, long hair streaming down his back as his face contorted into furious expressions, angry lines marring his eyes and mouth. Marik chewed his lip.

They remained in silence except for the flying keys until Bakura finally stopped, abruptly, leaving an angry dissonance hanging in the air. He didn't turn to look at Marik as he spoke. "Is the bastard gone?"

"Presuming you mean your brother," Marik spoke slowly, licking his lips, "Then no. He's still here."

Silence.

Bakura remained stiff as Marik edged closer, sliding onto the other end of the piano stool and facing Bakura. "He needs somewhere to stay. You can't just abandon him."

"The fuck I can't," Bakura snarled, but when he turned to face Marik there was an almost hopeless despair behind his deep brown eyes. It tugged at Marik's heartstrings.

With a low sigh, Marik slipped forwards and wrapped his arms around Bakura's shoulders, pulling Bakura over so that his head rested on Marik's chest. Bakura remained stiff and still, unresponsive as Marik rested his head in Bakura's hair.

They sat in silence for a while, discord still hanging heavily in the air. Bakura slowly, imperceptibly, began to sag against Marik, his eyes sliding shut and his head dropping. Marik cradled him close, lightly stroking his shoulder and breathing in his now-familiar scent, sighing a little. "Why do you not want him to stay?"

"He's a bastard," Bakura growled. "A bastard and a gullible idiot."

Marik chewed his lip, debating how much to say. In the end, he just blurted it out. "Ryou told me that you think Yami started the fire."

Silence.

Bakura slowly turned his head, meeting Marik's eyes with a searching, painful gaze. "I don't _think,_ I _know_," Bakura snarled. "And why the fuck would he tell you that?"

"Because he actually does what I ask, unlike you," Marik snorted softly, continuing to hold Bakura close. "Why do you think Yami started it?"

Bakura fell silent, his brows furrowing. "He did," Bakura growled quietly. "I saw him do it."

Marik shook his head, running his fingers lightly through Bakura's hair. The anger was still evident, burning behind his every word, but at the same time Marik knew that Bakura was hurting. He had never seen Bakura this vulnerable before, and Marik was burning to know why.

"Why would Yami start a fire in your house?" Marik questioned softly, rocking Bakura with gentle movements on the piano stool.

A snarl ripped past Bakura's lips and he pushed himself away, launching up onto his feet and backing away from the piano stool. Marik turned to him with questioning violet eyes, but Bakura's expression was fiery and burning; his lips were pulled back, exposing sharp white teeth, and his brown eyes were gleaming with an inner rage that Marik could only begin to guess at. There was more to this situation than Marik yet knew.

"You know nothing," Bakura growled, echoing Marik's thoughts. "You know nothing about any of this, so just stop fucking assuming."

Marik felt the beginnings of anger stirring in his own stomach. He clambered to his feet and turned to face Bakura, brows lowering and lips pursing. "Maybe I wouldn't have to assume if you actually shared your life with me."

"It's none of your fucking business," Bakura snarled.

Marik hissed, easily ducking around the piano stool and advancing on Bakura. "Of course it is! I shared everything with you -"

"We're not back on that again," Bakura snorted, dodging Marik's lunge and whirling away to the other side of the room. They faced each other, identical expressions of anger twisting both their features, perfectly at eye level. Bakura growled, continuing bluntly. "I needed to know your story, Marik. You don't need to know mine."

"I do now!" Marik responded hotly. "Now your brother's fucking _moved in_, I think I have a right to know -!"

"It's your damn fault he's still here!" Bakura's low voice was growing raspier and more agitated with each passing second, his eyes flashing with a searing heat. "If you had just done as I said and left us alone I would have got rid of him by now!"

"And what? Abandoned him on the streets? Left him to fend entirely for himself?!" Marik could feel hot flames shooting through his veins. "You can't just leave him like that when you're all he's got left!"

"I don't fucking want to be!" Bakura was breathing heavily, the words flung at Marik as hard and tough as boulders. "You think I _want_ to have to take care of him, or that he wants to be here? Trust me, he would much rather be as far away from me as I would from him."

"But why? Why wouldn't you want to stick together? You're all the family you have left..." Marik trailed off when he saw Bakura's furious expression.

In less than a second, Bakura flew across the room and slammed Marik backwards, both of them tumbling to the ground at the force of his momentum. Bakura flipped Marik around onto his front and crashed on top of his back, capturing both of Marik's hand and trapping them even as Bakura hissed into Marik's ear. "He hates me, Marik. It would be better for both of us if you had just let me kick him out."

"Well, I'm not going to allow that," Marik gasped, winded from his sudden knock onto the floor. Bakura snarled into his ear and Marik winced, attempting to get up only for Bakura to slam him back down again. "Let me the hell up!"

"Fuck no. You need to understand what you're doing." Bakura growled lowly, hissing the words quietly into Marik's ear. They dripped like slivers of poison. "Ryou hates me because he thinks I started the fire."

Marik went utterly still.

Bakura scoffed. "That's how I thought you'd react."

Without another word, Bakura's weight was suddenly gone from Marik's back. Marik moved slowly, bringing his knees painfully up under his chest and sitting upright before clambering slowly to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. He turned with slow movements to see Bakura watching him, gaze fiery and stern, expression impassive.

"I suppose you think he could be right," Bakura stated; his tone was deceptively calm, but there was fire behind his words. "I'm violent, dangerous, and quite obviously capable of murder. I could have started the fire. I could have killed my family; hell, that would explain why I pushed Ryou away. It would explain everything and tie up all the loose ends in a neat little bundle, right?"

Marik opened his mouth, but Bakura was already speaking again.

"Much as I'm sure you would love that to be true, it isn't. Yami started the fire. I was there, I fucking _saw it_, only no one would believe me because he was such a fucking _good student_ and I was the untrustworthy one, so there is absolutely no way anyone would take my word over his! Never mind that I was telling the truth, or that it was _me_ who lost everything..."

Marik blinked, stepping forwards slightly. "I don't think you started the fire."

Bakura instantly stopped speaking. His head snapped up, gaze locking onto Marik's.

Marik continued carefully, "That makes even less sense than Yami starting it. But you have to tell me what happened."

"The fuck I do," Bakura growled.

Marik shook his head. All the tangled threads were just hanging there, none of them linking up, and he would be damned if he didn't get Bakura to explain, _now_, exactly what he was talking about. "Tell me everything, Bakura. Right now."

"No fucking way." Bakura hissed.

Marik advanced, for once trapping Bakura in a corner, refusing to let him leave. Marik's violet eyes were narrowed dangerously, his expression demanding and unforgiving. Bakura's back hit a wall and he looked vaguely startled.

Marik leaned right over him. "Tell me everything. _Now_."

"When did you grow a backbone?" Bakura's tone was faintly amused.

Marik snarled.

Bakura lifted his hands, faux-submissive. "Fine. I'll tell you, but you better just shut the fuck up until I'm done."

Marik pointedly snapped his mouth shut.

Bakura grinned, but it was a feral action, no humour behind the expression at all. "I was there when the fire started. It was the middle of the night and I went downstairs to get a glass of water, and what do I find in the kitchen? Yami with a box of matches."

"What the hell?" Marik interrupted, forgetting Bakura's order. "Why the fuck would he be in your house?"

Bakura's expression grew dangerous. "Shut the fuck up. You know Yami and I have both lived in this city for our entire lives – at least, Yami has. I moved here with my family when I was seven, the year before the fire. I was already very musical, but turns out this place already had its little star – Yami. We both competed together frequently, but poor little Yami couldn't handle that I was better than him. It probably didn't help that I taunted him at every possible occasion, but honestly, the little fucker deserved it. He was horribly jealous.

"Anyway, we both entered the same music competition when I was eight and he was seven. I won, of course, but poor jealous little Yami couldn't cope. He sneaked around to our house in the middle of the night and saw the matches, just as I came down the stairs. He was scared when he saw me and ran, but he'd already lit a match. I just watched the flames spread, whilst he legged it...

"I came to my senses soon enough, of course, and ran back up the stairs. I met my mum. I told her what had happened and she told me to get Ryou and go, she'd fetch Amane and dad and meet us out there. I did as she asked, only no one else ever got out. Just Ryou and me."

Bakura's expression darkened dangerously as he leaned against the wall, folding his arms. Marik backed off a little, his eyes widening as he ran his gaze over Bakura's form, mind struggling to catch up with what Bakura was saying.

"So..." Marik stopped, licked his lips, then tried again. "Yami started the fire?"

Bakura nodded once. "As I told you he did."

Marik shook his head, tone incredulous. "He started the fire because he was _jealous_?"

"You have to remember that he was seven," Bakura sighed, running a hand over his face. "Not that that excuses him at all, but a seven year old doesn't exactly have rational reasons for burning down a house and murdering three people."

Marik walked towards Bakura slowly, hesitantly, swallowing as he reached out a hand. "But why – why doesn't Ryou believe you?"

Bakura's eyes closed. His head dropped into his hands.

His shoulders shook.

Marik sighed and pulled Bakura towards him, enfolding him in a hug. Moving carefully, Marik found his way to the bed and sat with his back to the headboard, Bakura ensconced firmly on his lap, wrapped up tightly in his arms. Bakura, for once, curled up without complaint.

"He questions how I got him out," Bakura started slowly. "It took years, but Ryou grew suspicious. He thought the only way I could have known about the fire in enough time to get him and me out was if I'd started it myself. He never believed what I said about Yami – Ryou and Yugi, Yami's little brother, have been friends since we first moved here. That family can do no wrong in Ryou's eyes."

Bakura's lips twisted in a sneer and Marik pulled him a little closer, lips close to Bakura's ear. "I get that. But you can't just kick Ryou out."

"The fuck I can't," Bakura snarled. "He's still an ungrateful bastard."

Marik shook his head, rocking Bakura gently at the hidden pain still evident in his tone. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. It's late – you should sleep."

"So should you," Bakura countered, but he lay down obediently enough, pulling Marik down with him.

The two students curled up together, Marik pulling Bakura safely into his chest, running light fingers along Bakura's back until the pale student dropped off to sleep. Marik remained awake for a long time after, however, as he tried to wrap his mind around everything Bakura had said. So much was still unclear, despite how much had been revealed...

Yami started the fire. _Yami_. Whenever Marik thought of his fellow art student, it was through a haze of hot rage. It was so unbelievable at the same time, though, because how on earth could a seven year old boy have broken into someone's house, stolen matches, started the fire, and then run off, all without getting caught? Never mind the fact that Yami seemed perfectly placid nowadays, if a little irritating.

But then, why would Bakura make up such a story?

Marik knew who he believed. He tightened his arms around Bakura's back, holding the sleeping student close.

Regardless of who was telling the truth, why had nothing been done? Surely the police must have investigated. Marik would have to ask Bakura for more details in the morning, assuming Bakura would still want to talk about it, which was unlikely. Marik would just have to make him speak.

And then, there was Ryou.

Ryou, who had lost just as much as Bakura. Ryou, who believed that his own brother started the fire that killed their parents and sister. Ryou, who was sleeping in the next room.

No wonder the two brothers were so often at loggerheads.

Marik sighed, attempting to calm his racing thoughts as he held Bakura close to him. Marik buried his head in white hair, allowing his eyes to slide closed as he attempted to relax his taught muscles, trying to sink his unwilling body into sleep. It had been a wonderful day up until Ryou's entrance; Marik had never experienced such a happy birthday. But it seemed that this day was cursed, no matter where Marik was.

Marik sighed, breathing in the scent of Bakura's hair as he attempted to sleep. It was a restless night, but Marik knew the next day would only bring more strife.

How in the hell was Marik going to manage Bakura and Ryou living in the same flat?

**Finished for now! I'm sorry that this is a little rushed, I'm about to go to another appointment to see if they can sort my health out. I have absolutely no idea when the next update will be done, as I said earlier I certainly won't be back on my regular schedule yet, but trust me, this story will be finished. I'll get the next chapter out as soon as I possibly can! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem**


	18. Chapter 18

**Another update, finally, and I am SO SORRY it's taken so long! There are several long and complicated reasons why this update took forever (nothing too bad, though) but I won't go into them here. All you need to know is: I'm back and armed with an update schedule! However, because I (stupidly) started another story, this one will be updated once a week again, every THURSDAY. So look out for an update every week! ^_^ A couple of people have been asking how long this story will be, and I'm still not positive, but I'm over half way through. It might reach thirty chapters? I'm really not sure haha. **

**Thanks to CursiveBlade13 for helping me structure this chapter, it took so long to start flowing hehe. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this update, now that it's finally here! – Jem**

Marik threw the book down onto the desk with a low groan, his hands fisting in his hair. He almost wanted to scream in frustration. No matter how hard he tried, his mind would not stay on the history of Monet and the French Impressionist movement; the images in the book floated through his skull, never substantial enough to stick in his mind, always just drifting out of his reach. He knew he was going to fail this exam.

And the two white-haired idiots in his flat were the reason why.

When Marik was supposed to be studying over the winter break, he had ended up playing peacemaker more often than not. Bakura and Ryou living together had proven just as difficult as Marik had feared. For the first couple of days, the arguments had been so bad that the reception team would come up and tell them to keep it down, but one snarl from a livid Bakura had been enough to send them back with their metaphorical tails between their legs. Ryou, despite Marik's first impressions, turned out to have just an explosive temper as his brother. They hissed poisonous insults at each other faster than Marik could keep up with, and in the end Marik had simply forbidden to be in one room at the same time. Ryou, unlike Bakura, could cook for himself, so the younger Touzoku took to eating at different times to Marik and Bakura, leaving for school before they were up in the mornings and returning when they were both out at college, resorting to spending his evenings locked away in his room. Marik felt a bit bad about how lonely Ryou's life was, but Bakura was his top priority. And Marik simply could not deal with the constant arguments.

Bakura was the worst to deal with. Even having Ryou in the same flat, despite not mixing with him much, has seemed to push Bakura out of balance, throwing him out of control. His wicked temper and violent temperament showed up far more often, although he rarely hurt Marik anymore, instead tending to take his anger out on various pieces of furniture. Another kitchen cupboard had been broken, adding to Marik's damage, and various walls had gained dents. Marik would calm him down as much as he could, but Ryou's presence never left, so the problem was never resolved.

_One of these days, I am going to have to make them talk to each other,_ Marik promised himself, turning back to his textbook with a sigh. He had taken to doing all his studying at college; it meant he got home later, but work was pretty much impossible in the flat. If Bakura wasn't yelling or punching furniture, he was seducing Marik, taking out his overload of emotions in other ways. Marik smiled a little at that.

The university had opened its doors for the spring two days ago, and both Bakura and Marik had found themselves busier this term than last. As a result, they had had less time together, something that made Marik a little frustrated. Of course, having Ryou around made things more difficult anyway.

Marik sighed loudly. No matter how he strived to keep his thoughts away from the two pale siblings he shared his home with, Marik could never keep his mind off them for long. He had even more reason to be worried then, though – it was the first day that the two of them would be at home together, alone. Bakura had a free day from college, and so when Ryou got home from school the two of them would be trapped together, without Marik there to act as mediator.

Marik dreaded to think what he could be returning home to.

If he ever got there, that was. With a sigh, he pulled the textbook back towards him and attempted to focus his mind back on French Impressionists, but his thoughts kept slipping away, back to the flat and its two pale occupants. Marik wondered vaguely whether Bakura would even bother talking to his brother. He might just go straight to his bedroom, avoiding Ryou entirely, although Marik knew that he would have to make them both sit down and have an actual civil conversation eventually. The situation, as it stood, was absolutely ridiculous.

With a small sigh, Marik considered just packing in his studying for the day – it was gone six, after all – but he knew that he hadn't really got anything done. His marks would definitely slide down if this was all he could manage, never mind that they hadn't been very high to begin with.

With a low sigh, Marik snapped the textbook shut, giving up on his studying for the moment. He would probably fail the exam anyway, no matter how much cramming he did now, but it wasn't like it counted for anything; first year at uni was basically a free year, seeing as none of the work they did actually counted towards the qualification. Deciding that he'd had more than enough for today, and his stomach making itself known, Marik quickly dived under the desk to grab his bag again, packing away his textbook and notepad. Beforehand, Marik would have always borrowed notes off Yami, but now, knowing what he did about Bakura's family, Marik really wasn't comfortable around Yami at all.

So, when Marik sat up, his features sank immediately when he saw two of his least favourite people in the world enter the library. A sickeningly familiar brunette head swung into view, followed by spiky locks that stuck up stupid.

Marik cursed under his breath.

They, of course, saw him.

"Marik!" Feet pattered all the way across the library as Tea ran up to him, her bag flying off her shoulders. Her blue eyes were lit with misplaced concern and Marik couldn't help but roll his eyes, flicking his gaze left and right as he searched for some form of escape.

"We've been so worried about you!" Tea's voice was tinged with overprotective concern that instantly made Marik cringe. "How was your Christmas break? Did Bakura treat you ok?"

Marik didn't bother responding, allowing his irritation to show plainly on his face.

Tea ignored him. "What about his brother? Is he ok? We heard through Yugi that he's staying with you now, so Bakura can't be as bad as you made him out to be..."

"Oh, he is." Marik didn't even bother looking at Tea as he kept looking for an escape route. Yami was edging ever closer, and Marik _really_ didn't want to have to deal with him any more...

Tea pursed her lips. "Well, at least he hasn't kicked Ryou out. Yami was so worried about what we would do..."

"It didn't happen." Yami's clear, deep voice sounded through the library as he walked over to them, laying a casual hand about Tea's shoulders. "Ryou's fine. That's the end of it."

Tea smiled up at him, but Marik couldn't stop himself from cutting in. This was the first time he had been so close to Yami since Bakura told him about the fire, and given the opportunity to study Yami's features, Marik just could not believe that this seemingly calm teenager could have killed three people. Sure, it was an accident, and he was just a kid, but still...

Yami caught Marik's searching gaze and sent him a quizzical one in return. "Something the matter, Marik?"

"Oh, no." Marik kept his tone deliberately sweet. "It's just, you know, with Bakura and Ryou under one roof things can get a little tiring."

Yami's lips twitched. "I can imagine."

"Yeah." Marik deliberately needled, watching Yami's face closely. "They're always arguing about their past."

Yami remained impassive, but Tea questioned further, her blue eyes confused. "They argue about it? I don't understand why."

"Neither did I," Marik shrugged, still scrutinising Yami. "But then Bakura told me who Ryou thinks started the fire."

Yami's face flickered.

Tea gasped, her features dropping into an expression of open shock. "Ryou knows who started it? I thought the police never found out!"

"It was never conclusive." Yami's voice was quiet, laced with something that Marik couldn't quite place.

Marik continued to gaze at him, violet eyes hard as agates. "Lucky for whoever did it, then."

"I wouldn't say that." Yami's voice was dark and stern. He met Marik's gaze, flicked a look at Tea, and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

Marik wanted to spit at him.

"I've got to go." Marik abruptly turned, snatching up his bag and slinging it over his shoulders. He ignored Tea's questioning looks, pushing past the two of them in a bid to get to the exit.

Tea ran after him. "But, Marik! We wanted to share notes with you on the exam next week, I'm totally freaking out about it..."

"You'll be fine." Marik shook her off, sending Yami a hard stare. "I'm sure your _boyfriend_ will help you."

"As I'm sure your boyfriend will help you." Yami's voice remained quiet, but Tea instantly squealed.

She turned back to Marik, fingers tightening on his arm as she beamed up at him. "Oh, have you and Bakura finally got together? That is such good news!"

Marik snarled, shaking her off. He neither confirmed nor denied her question, despite her constant pleas, instead turning to leave the building. Marik was sure to shoot one last angry comment Yami's way, though, wanting the pale student to be in no doubt as to Marik's opinion of him. "At least I can trust Bakura to be honest about what he's done, unlike the person who started that fire."

Marik thought, with a vicious sense of satisfaction, that he saw Yami wince just as he left the building.

...

The walk back home was long and cold for Marik. He had managed to forget his waterproof jacket – something Bakura had insisted he buy – and so Marik was getting soaked through in the drizzly mist. He shook his sodden blond hair out of his eyes as he strode through the streets, shivering, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Marik found himself hoping that Ryou and Bakura would have got over whatever argument they were having now, so that Bakura would be free to hug Marik when he got in, to help warm him up. After laughing at him for a good ten minutes, anyway.

Marik shivered, hugging himself tighter, until he felt a buzz in his pocket. Flicking out his phone, Marik irritably wiped off the screen before turning it on and seeing that he had a text from Kek. Marik arched a brow. He hadn't heard from his cousin at all over the winter holidays, presumably because Kek had been out on those 'jobs' he and Bakura were supposed to be doing for Kaiba. Marik read the text, a little surprised.

_'Hey cousin, I have no food, I'm coming to steal yours tonight. I'll be there at seven.'_

Marik rolled his eyes, checking his watch. It was already six-thirty. With a low growl, Marik pocketed his phone and continued down the street, thankfully reaching his building quickly. He slipped straight into the lift, not bothering with the stairs when he was this cold and tired, and stepped out on the top floor. Marik reached into his pocket for his key, approaching his door, but he drew to a halt when he heard raised voices.

Bakura and Ryou were arguing, _again_.

With a low sigh, Marik fitted his key in the lock and turned the handle, easily swinging the door open. As expected, he was met with Bakura and Ryou stood in the kitchen, facing each other with identical expressions of mutual hatred etched into their expressions. Ryou's hands were curled up into fists by his sides, some remnants of his dinner placed neatly in the sink, and Bakura stood over him, threateningly close, with that familiar lazy smirk over his lips. Marik felt his heart race.

"This isn't something for you to concern yourself with," Bakura explained, his voice dark and smooth.

Ryou, by contrast, seemed much more wound up, his voice a lot higher than his brother's. "Of course it is! If you're stealing again..."

"It is no concern of yours." Bakura's voice took on a black tone and he edged a step closer, forcing Ryou's back into the counter.

Ryou glared defiantly up at him, his brown eyes, so like Bakura's, narrowed into slits of hatred. "I don't want you feeding me by unlawful means."

"So get Marik to buy your food," Bakura shrugged, nonchalant. "I mean, he uses my money anyway, but if it would help your misplaced sense of morals then – "

"_My_ misplaced morals?" Ryou laughed at that; actually laughed, although the sound was bitter and certainly not full of joy. "You are in no position to talk to me about _morals_."

Bakura's nostrils went white.

Marik took that as a danger sign and quickly stepped in, making his presence known with a small cough. Ryou instantly jumped, his eyes going wide, but Bakura merely looked around and flicked a bored hand at him, apparently disinterested, although Marik knew better by the burning of his dark eyes. "Go wait in the bedroom. I'll come use you in a minute."

"I'm not your fucking pleasure slave." Marik walked into the kitchen, his mouth a thin line as he regarded the two brothers.

Bakura arched a brow. "Could have fooled me."

Ryou glanced between them before edging away from the counter, his brows furrowed a little. "I'm going to my room. You two do whatever you want."

"No way." Marik shook his head, grabbing Ryou's arm as he went past and spinning him back around to face his brother. Marik stared between them, lips pursed and brow furrowed in thought; he wanted them to have a civil conversation, but somehow, he doubted very much that that would happen. Especially with the dangerous glare Bakura was sending him.

With a reluctant sigh, Marik released Ryou's arm again. "I just wanted to let you both know that my cousin is visiting us in ... about twenty minutes' time." Marik groaned when he checked his watch. "He wants food, so I'm going to cook."

Bakura rolled his eyes and Ryou merely looked small, so Marik largely ignored them both in favour of turning to the hob and fishing out ingredients from the cupboards; they were all his now, with Ryou only taking up one small little cupboard in the corner. The younger Touzoku proved much easier to live with than his older brother.

Pale arms wrapped around Marik's waist as he stood at the hob, a slender chin resting on his shoulder. Cool breath blew into his ear, still managing to send shivers down Marik's spine. "Why is your damned cousin coming over?"

"He said he has no food," Marik shrugged, leaning back into Bakura's touch a little as he flicked on the hob, waiting for it to heat up. "Wants to mooch off us."

"He's a bastard." Bakura, despite his words, rested his head in Marik's hair, keeping them pressed close together as he watched Marik cook. Marik smiled slightly, enjoying the warmth of Bakura at his back; he couldn't help his mind straying back to his early days in this flat, when Bakura yelled at him for using his cooking stuff and ordered him to replace it immediately. Marik never had, but here they were. Somehow, Marik thought he had paid off his debts in other ways.

"I was hoping we'd get some alone time," Bakura murmured. His fingers trailed around the front of Marik's waist, playing with his belt as he ghosted along his exposed midriff, lightly caressing his skin.

Marik held in a moan, instead turning his head to find Bakura's lips with his own. His eyes slid closed as he lost himself in Bakura's touches, the warmth that spread through his veins comforting and familiar. Bakura smiled, deepening the kiss, his tongue tracking down Marik's whilst he pressed them close together, sharing warmth. Marik mewled a little, turning his head to get closer, but Bakura drew back with a small chuckle. Meeting Marik's disgruntled eyes, all Bakura had to do was nod at the hob. "I think you're burning dinner."

"What?" Marik blinked, coming out of his daze, before examining the contents of the pan. "Oh, hell! Bakura, stop distracting me!"

Bakura laughed loudly, jumping up to sit on the counter by the hob, his legs dangling beside Marik's waist. "What? Can't handle it?"

"Not when I'm fucking cooking." Marik swatted at him, attempting to salvage the food. "I need enough for Kek, too, remember!"

Bakura rolled his eyes, scoffing quietly. "That's exactly what I mean. We never get time with just us anymore, now that little shit has moved in."

"Don't talk about Ryou like that," Marik scolded absentmindedly.

Bakura kicked his side. "I'll talk about him however I like."

"You are such a child." Marik shook his head, managing to dish out three plates. Kek had yet to arrive, however, so Marik shoved the three of them in the oven before turning to Bakura, who was still seated on the counter. Marik smiled up at him, sliding closer between Bakura's legs, placing tanned hands on pale hips. "What was that you were saying about never getting alone time?"

"I guess we could make up for it now." Bakura smirked down at Marik, tightening his legs about Marik's waist as he drew the Egyptian towards him. Marik smiled, lifting his head up to meet Bakura's lips eagerly, kissing him deeply as he ran his fingers up to tangle in white locks. Bakura obediently moved closer, pulling Marik up to meet him. Pale hands ran down Marik's back, finding their way up under his hoody, and Marik shuddered in delight when white fingers found his scars. Bakura traced the patterns almost casually, knowing all the spots that brought Marik the most pleasure, until Marik was little more than a puddle of happiness held up only by Bakura's strong arms.

Bakura pulled back for just long enough to speak. "Doesn't take much to make you breathless, does it, Ishtar?"

"Mmm, shut up," Marik hissed, tugging Bakura's face closer once more, "And don't stop touching my scars."

Bakura acquiesced happily enough, kissing Marik once more as Marik's arms wound tightly around his neck.

This was how Kek found them when he entered through the unlocked door and made straight for the kitchen.

"Gods, guys, not in front of me, please!"

Marik groaned. He attempted to keep Bakura close to him, but Kek was across the room in seconds and he pulled Marik away from Bakura none-too-gently. Marik grumbled and complained, tugging himself out of Kek's strong grip and spinning to fix him with a petulant glare, hands on hips. "Hey! I was enjoying myself!"

"Sure looked like it." Kek's grin was wide. "But I'm starving and I'm not eating anything you cooked on that worksurface."

Marik flicked a finger at him before wandering over to the oven. "We didn't fuck in here, bastard."

"More's the pity." Bakura chuckled, earning a whack from Marik. He rolled his eyes and jumped catlike off the counter, making his way to the table. Marik recovered the plates from the oven, setting them down on the table, where they all tucked in. Kek finished first, devouring his food like a man who hadn't eaten in months.

Marik quirked a brow. "What the hell was that? You trying to destroy my kitchen?"

"_My_ kitchen," Bakura intercepted with a dangerous growl.

Marik ignored him.

Kek smirked down at his cousin, leaning back in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, stifling a yawn. "Been a while since I've eaten."

"I don't even want to know what you've been doing," Marik muttered, continuing with his meal.

Bakura, however, laid down his fork, fixing Kek with a keen glare. "You haven't been watching the house Kaiba put us on to, have you? Because that one is _mine_."

"Hey, we have to get rid of the company," Kek shrugged, nonchalant. "I'm helping out. I say we should just sneak in one night and snap all their necks."

"Not happening," Marik ordered.

Bakura arched a brow. "And so, the wise one hath spoken. No violence must we incur on the innocents of this house."

Marik threw a fork at him.

Bakura dodged with a snicker before turning back to Kek. "Fine, you can watch that house, but no touching the Items. Got it?"

"Sure," Kek shrugged. "I don't even know what the fuck they are. They're all yours."

Bakura nodded, appearing satisfied, and tucked back into his food.

Marik, however, turned a quizzical stare on Bakura. He never had found out exactly what was so special to Bakura about these 'Items' Kaiba had told him about. Marik resolved to get it out of him later, using whatever means necessary.

Bakura caught his look and quirked a brow, amused. "I think your mind is in the gutter."

Despite himself, Marik flushed. He turned to his now-empty plate, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he determinedly refused to meet Bakura's gaze, instead staring steadfastly at the tabletop.

Bakura chuckled, turning to Kek. "If you'd like to get the hell out of my apartment now, I think your cousin and I would like some time alone."

"Gladly." Kek shook his head, climbing to his feet, but just as he was turning to the kitchen door there was a muffled squeak.

Kek went still.

"Someone is watching us."

"Hmm?" As soon as Kek had stood, Bakura reached over and pulled Marik into his lap and was now proceeding to attach his earlobe with his teeth, producing the most delicious groans from the younger Egyptian.

Kek ignored them, stalking quietly to the door. "Someone's been listening to us."

He got no response as Marik and Bakura remained focused on each other. Cursing under his breath, Kek shot stealthily over to the kitchen door, peeking through the small glass window. He caught a flash of white, a hint of brown...

There.

Without further thought, Kek slammed the door open and plunged out a hand, plucking a small form out of the corridor and hoisting it high into the air. There was another squeak, louder this time, followed by several muffled bangs and a harsh cry. "Get off me!"

"You were fucking eavesdropping!" Kek slammed the small form into the back of the kitchen door, lifting it fully off the ground as he leered closer. Long white hair soon swam into view, wide brown eyes staring out of a pale face, hair much softer than Bakura's hanging down his shoulders.

"I was not!" The small form kicked, trying to escape Kek's strong grip.

Kek snarled and slammed him back into the wall. "Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here?"

"I could – ow! – ask you the same thing!" The small white-haired boy kicked out from the wall, glaring at Kek with harsh brown eyes. "I live here!"

Kek stopped short.

Raucous laughter sounded from within the kitchen as Bakura eyed the small scene, Marik still firmly ensconced on his lap. Pale arms were tight around Marik's torso as Bakura's dark chuckles reverberated around the kitchen, black amusement lighting up every feature of his face.

Marik attempted to get up twice before falling back in Bakura's lap, rolling his eyes. "Kek, meet Ryou. Bakura's brother."

Kek looked a little surprised, turning back to the small form he still held trapped against the kitchen door. "Ryou?"

"That's me." Ryou coughed, kicking again as he attempted to get free. "Will you please put me down now?"

Kek just grinned before removing his hands. Ryou crumpled to the floor.

"Ouch!" Ryou hissed, clambering to his feet again as he glared up at Kek, who had joined Bakura in raucous laughter. Despite himself, Marik couldn't stop a small snicker from escaping his own lips.

Ryou sighed loudly at them all. "I just came to get a drink. But whatever – I'll come back later, when you've all grown up."

Bakura just sneered, watching him out of the room with brown eyes narrowed into slits.

...

After Kek had gone, Marik and Bakura retreated to their bedroom. Their clothes didn't stay on for long. Bakura lay on his back with his legs spread wide, Marik crouched between them, both of them panting and moaning with each one of Marik's thrusts. Marik's nails dug into Bakura's hips, his head dropping down onto Bakura's chest as he felt heat pooling in his gut, breaths getting quicker and quicker as he panted. Bakura kept his eyes trained right on Marik's face, taking in his every feature as he slowly stroked himself, timing it with Marik's thrusts. They finished within the same second, both riding out the high with low groans of pleasure before Marik collapsed down on top of Bakura, spent.

Bakura chuckled a little breathlessly, slowly lifting a hand to brush back the strands of gold from Marik's forehead. "You're getting better at that."

"Asshole." Marik whacked Bakura's chest as he pulled out, tugging the covers over both of them as he fell back down, laying his head on Bakura's shoulder. "I always have been good."

"I wouldn't say that," Bakura murmured teasingly into Marik's ear, fingers running down to trace his scars again.

Marik arched a brow, glaring at him. "If I'm that bad, why do you let me top so often?"

Bakura shoved him lightly before returning to his gentle touches.

Marik smiled, drawing lazy patterns against Bakura's chest as they curled together beneath the sheets, sharing heat in the freezing January night. Marik felt pleasantly warm, comforted beyond belief, his eyes soon sliding closed. He rolled a little, happy when he felt Bakura's arms tight around him. Sleep was not far off. However, something tugged at the back of Marik's mind, something he vaguely remembered as being important...

"I wanted to ask you something..." Marik mumbled, his voice hazy and thick with sleep.

Bakura regarded him with cool brown eyes, his own limbs heavy. "Ask me in the morning."

"It was important..."

"Later, Marik." Bakura closed his eyes and lifted Marik up his chest, planting a slow, soft kiss on his lips. "Don't spoil the moment."

"Moment," Marik scoffed tiredly. "You and I don't have moments."

"Call it what you will." Bakura closed his eyes again, resting his head on the pillows as he cradled Marik on his chest.

Marik looked down at him, watching as he drifted into sleep. Marik pursed his lips, his hands lightly stroking across Bakura's features before he leaned down to brush their mouths together once more, kissing deeply, before sinking deep into the world of dreams for himself.

**So, the deathshipping can finally happen! I had no idea it would take this long to get Kek and Ryou in a room together haha. ^_^ This is technically out early Friday morning my time, but ... well, it's still Thursday in some parts of the world, so I'm going to pretend that it isn't late. It's also a bit shorter than my normal chapter lengths, but I wanted to post SOMETHING to let you all know I was back. XD Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed, even though I made you wait for ages for this chapter! - Jem**


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